Queen Takes Bishop: Checkmate
by Black Beloved
Summary: The Joker evades capture once again, and leads Gordon on a wild goose chase through Gotham. In the meantime, he hides in what he thought was an empty apartment. What he finds is an occupant hiding a secret.
1. Race through Gotham

_As some of the readers already know, I have been working on rewriting this story. While I reread it and liked the what I had written, it was not entirely what I had envisioned. Some of the characters got...well out of character. I've taken a good majority of the cursing out as it didn't seem to fit the Joker, and also a majority of the sexual innuendos._

_A few notes from me.** 1**. This obviously takes place right after TDK. **2**. I have decided to bring in two classic villains in what I hope is a unique and different view. Trying to keep with the dark aspect of TDK, I gave them very different background stories than the comics and etc. So all you die hard comic book Batman fans, sorry but this will not be following the original storyline. I wanted to do something a little bit of fresh instead of trying to interpret something that has already been done. Not that those fics are bad, I just want to be different. That really is the only difference. Just based on an idea I've had since watching TDK for the first time. It is going to be more like a comic world though, and a little stretch from Nolanverse. So basically it's an AU. This means I will use some already established characters, and I will use some characters that I just made up. **3**. Enjoy if you so choose, and reviews are always welcome._

_Although this is technically a romance, it is going to be a dark morbid story. It's not boy meets girl, or Beauty and the Beast. It's a sick, twisted, and at times very sad romance. Though it may seem initially that they hit it off, it's more an act than any actual affection. This is very important to know as you read the story._

_Also...Mia...Just a filler character. She's gone after this chapter. I am trying not to be generic with this, so just wanted to say that this is not Mary-Sue._

_This story will be mostly told from third person, centering around the thoughts of the Joker. Once in a while it will switch over to Gordon._

**_The only thing to fear is fear itself._**

_"You really should learn to face your fears."_

* * *

They were being obscenely rough with him, pushing and pulling him along with such force that he nearly kept falling over. As if he was a child that had done something mortifying in front of their parents and he deserved severe punishment. Like swearing in front of important company. Something akin to saying the _"F"_ word in front of dear ole pop's boss. Then they would take the belt to him and beat him until his ass was so raw he couldn't sit down. He supposed he had been a _very_ bad child. At least according to society.

They forced him along without pause despite the various wounds he had acquired; including the deep bruising and contusions around his ankles where moments ago wire cable held him suspended above the city. He was sure he could feel blood trickling down into his socks forming a warm pool in each shoe. If he listened close enough, he could hear the squishing noise emanating from his feet with every step that he took. As they dragged him along he tried to wiggle his toes. To his dismay he could feel blood ooze between them, making it uncomfortable and sticky. _Well that was just wonderful._

His hair was tangled and matted to his head from the combination of blood and perspiration that clung to him. As he licked his lips, he felt a bit of dried blood blended with the chalky taste of paint. The salty smell of sweat invaded his nostrils and he could feel an itch that was burning. He would have reached up to scratch it if it wasn't for the cuffs that were digging deep into his wrists. The more he struggled, the more they seemed to rub his wrists raw, bringing a familiar stinging sensation to his skin. Just like the last time. _Oh yes_, this was not the first time that he had been detained with handcuffs.

No certainly not. In fact, just days ago he had been in cuffs. And before that many, many times. Though the records wouldn't show that anymore.

Men like him did not do well at staying out of trouble. Trouble was drawn to him, and he to it. Not that he minded in the least, he craved it. He craved everything that came with it, including the attention. Nothing excited him more than when someone stopped to stare at his grotesque appearance. The terror in their voice when they realized it was him, when they realized what he could do. Even if they didn't know what he was going to do, they knew what he had done and what he was capable of. Just as it was now. The people in the street who had left their homes to get a glimpse of all the commotion just to have their own story to tell at work the next day. To have their own version of that night that would be spoken of and feared for years to come. "_Did you hear about the Joker? I saw him! The Antichrist in the flesh!"_

Women clung to the arms of men who tried to appear tough in the face of danger. Mothers shielded the eyes of their children, hoping that they wouldn't glimpse enough to have given them nightmares for eternity. As he scanned the crowd, he saw one such mother. He smiled and winked at gasped and grabbed her son, running back into a building that he assumed was their home. The look of pure terror on her face brought a smirk from his lips, and a butt of a gun into his back.

"Keep quiet asshole," one of the men said. Looking up through clouded eyes and strands of hair he read the badge on the young officer's uniform. _Whitmore._ He thought about making a smart remark, but decided against it, knowing that the next time they hit him it would probably be in the head. Passing out at his moment wouldn't be very helpful. He had to bite his lip to keep from talking; he succeeded in drawing a drop of blood to add to the foul taste in his mouth. It was not in his nature to be submissive, but it was all part of the plan. There was always a plan. Although he had once said otherwise, he had merely bended the truth. Of course he made plans, however he had no goal. No reason for what he did, it was all just because. _Officer Whitmore, I hope you believe that your job is worth all of this_, he thought to himself.

It was still quite dark out, the moon barely showing through the clouds. Although the street lamps illuminated the cracked sidewalks and he could see pieces of trash and gum wrappers along the road. There were weeds growing through the cracks, showing that the city was poor at taking care of itself. One more sign of how bad times had hit Gotham.

A few yards behind him the red and blue lights from the patrol cars flashed continuously. They brought the only bright colors to this dark city. He imagined they were still ransacking the building looking for his men. Not that he cared in the least. It would be their own damn fault if they were stupid enough to get caught. Although it wouldn't be a surprise. Most of the men that he chose to work for him were slightly off balance. The rest were those who just wanted to stay on the Joker's good side. The kind that was easily manipulated. Easy to convince and willing to do whatever he asked of them. Protection in return for there service. Or for his slower counterparts "medicine." Not a damn one of them had even realized that he didn't give a rats ass about any of them._ Disposable_. Just like razors, just use them and then throw them away.

He looked back to the bystanders gathered over by a traffic light. Even though he was captured the fear was so tangible in the air. He could see them all whispering and pointing. Once again he was the center of attention, a spectacle if you will. Sobbing and screaming could be heard, tensions running high throughout the whole city. _That's right. You're all scared of the big bad wolf. Don't forget about this night, because it won't be the last. I promise you that, Dear old Gotham._

As much energy as the streets seemed to hold, it all seemed to disappear the closer that he was escorted to them. People held their breath as the police forced him by the crowd. Not a soul blinked as he passed by, not a person looked up to see him. Not a sound, except for the wind whistling through the alleys and the distant sirens behind them. They all stood still like statues. Too afraid to look him in the face. He could only imagine what was going through their head. He did know they were waiting for him to do something so drastic that it would prove to them that the most dangerous man in Gotham is not that easily subdued. It made him feel good, terrifying them. _That's right, keep watching, like I'm going to do a trick for you._

Chaos had always elated him. Sure there were other things that gave people that same warm feeling he got. Some people donated to a charity, some people found love, some even had children. But he..._he_ was different. There was nothing as exhilarating as throwing all of those rules out the window and forgetting about the consequences. To know that you are in charge, people feared you, labeled you as unpredictable and dangerous. It felt wonderful to act on those primal instincts that told you to punish your enemies and put the weak in their place. The blood pulsing through your veins, the nirvana of acting on your deepest and darkest desires. That was what he lived for. The second thing that he lived for, was proving that almost every human that walked the streets of this city could be just like him by pushing the right buttons. It could be the threat of hurting a loved one, it could be taking something precious away, money, power, lust, or it could be done just by threatening their own lives. So many different ways to torture people, he had never grown bored with it. How could he, when it was what made him feel so alive? And with Batman, his fun would never end.

That was until he was thrown into a maximum security prison, or worse...Arkham Asylum. The latter being the more likely choice since everyone was convinced that he was completely out of his mind. A neurotic psychopath is what they had called him on the news. He had never thought he was insane. He felt normal, he had a conscious just like everyone else. He just chose to ignore it, it felt so much better that way. Well...that could be seen as insane he guessed. Had he chose to live that boring life as an office worker bound by laws and limitations, he would have seen a man painted as a clown rigging explosives to two ferries and telling them to detonate the other ferry or he would kill them all as insane as well. But he didn't lead a normal life. No, he tried once. Tried to pretend to fit in. But chaos, she found him. They were destined for each other, two lovers. So the chaos had come, turning his normal life upside down. Then he embraced that dark side, like he always knew he should have.

Which reminded him that he was still being escorted by six of Gotham's finest to an armored vehicle, which he assumed was to ship him off to the nearest holding facility immediately, if not straight to Black Gate. It also reminded him that he was in an excruciating amount of pain. It was taking every ounce of strength he had not to limp, or for that matter just give up walking all together and let the team drag him to their destination. But even someone like himself had some shred of dignity. So, he lifted his feet, trying not to drag them; determined to ignore the pain. He would not let them see him weak, he had an image to uphold. He'd be damned if he let them think that his spirit could be broken. No man would ever break him. No _one_ would ever break him.

They trudged under a street lamp and he winced as pale light illuminated his even paler face. His feet hurt like they had been walking for hours. And that damn itch wouldn't go away.

Taking a quick glance around he got an estimate of what he was dealing with. Five men and one woman. Each in their uniform of navy with the small white letters SWAT on the front. He turned back to the one that had spoken earlier. _Whitmore, was it?_ No facial feature could be distinguished through the helmet with the yellow tinted visor that he wore. His badge was sewn to the left arm of his uniform, as was the rest of theirs. He chose to ignore them, their names were not important to him. There was a receiver for his radio clipped to the front of his uniform, and there was a wire trailing up to his ear where there would have been a bud to hear the radio. The cord for the radio snaked over his shoulder and down his back connected the to radio pouch that was firmly secured to his belt. Looking back up from the belt, he noticed that the Kevlar over the uniform, their protection. He saw various pockets on the vest. He was guessing there was ammo in one of the pockets, possibly a flashlight. Beyond that he didn't know nor did he care. His elbows and knees were both covered with padding; the Joker mused over what the hell those could possibly be useful. He had never heard of anyone being shot in the knee or the elbow. Even so they seemed to be dressed for a purpose. The whole team looked the part of the job, from their firearms right down to the leather boots. They all walked in unison never breaking stride, dragging him along all the sound of their boots so rhythmical in comparison to his soft shoes, barely able to leave the ground with each step.

They passed under another light, this one a traffic light; this time a red tint passing over his facial features. The closer the van got, the more the team rushed with a sense of urgency. Eager to lock him up, to put him behind bars so that they could feel even a little safe._ Yes, you would all like to think that wouldn't you? That once you put me away everything bad will just, poof, disappear. Because I am all the evil that is out there. You silly, silly people_. He giggled softly. There were way worse criminals out there. He had met some of them. And they thought he was horrific because he didn't like their rules.

As if to affirm that they believed him to be so despicable, he was thrown to the ground harshly. Although he was glad to be off of his feet, he could have done without the impact of his face on the pavement. Obviously he couldn't catch himself, his hands bound behind his back. So, _smack_, he went head first into the concrete sidewalk. It made him bite his lip once more. He spat blood onto the ground. It took some strength to turn over without the aid of his arms, but he did it determined not to give them the satisfaction of thinking they had defeated him. _And that fucking itch was still there!_ If he could just have one little finger to scratch it with.

Trying to ignore it he tilted his head up to see Whitmore. He was closest to him, which goes without saying he had been the one to throw him to the ground._ And to think, I might have let you live Officer Whitmore, then you had to go do a horrible thing like that. Tsk tsk._ He just laughed, earning confused and disturbed glances from the SWAT unit.

"What the hell do you think is so funny asshole?" The clown continued laughing making the men nervous and anxious. Men did funny things when they were on edge like that. He knew it from experience, and it made the grin on his face widen.

"I said what the hell is so funny," Whitmore yelled in his face. The officer kicked him, a sick thud resonating that reverberated through the clown's whole body. One of the men flinched from the horrific sound of boot on flesh. The pain struck through the Joker's already sore torso like a knife and the wind was knocked out of him momentarily. As he took a short breath he felt the anger swell beneath his skin. That anger that has been there as far as he could remember. The anger that helped drive him. He felt his nails dig deeply into his palm, fists now clenched tightly. The flip had been switched. The game was afoot, as it were.

Whitmore looked down at him, breathing heavily. The Joker's eyes looked like coal, and the seasoned officer had to repress a shudder. _Damn this freak. What in the hell is wrong with this guy? This...this psycho nearly killed off a huge chunk of Gotham's population just minutes ago, and he's laughing? How fucking dare he? How dare he mock us like that?_

Joker watched him, pulling the thoughts right out of his head. It was so easy to do. A trick that he used all the time. Analyze the size of the pupils, the shade of the iris, how often they blinked. The way they were standing, if their head was tilted. Then he could tell what they were thinking. He formulated in his mind exactly what was going through Whitmore's head.

It wasn't really within the regulations to push around the bad guys, but he knew exactly what to say to push their buttons. Whitmore was the type to have never had the urge to rough up a criminal before, then he had the misfortune of meeting the Joker. He thought maybe bringing him pain would bring some sort of fear to this man. He just wanted him to stop being so impassive to this. After all, he had brought so much fear to them. Hell, the whole _fucking_ state feared this man. Just maybe it would finally shut him up for once! He had to have some sort of reaction. Stupid idea.

The clown was no longer amused, and he turned his head up to glare at the commanding officer. He had no fucking idea. Whitmore seemed to sense that something was askew. He was not giving in...he was not surrendering. Whitmore shifted his weight nervously watching the clown. Trying to resist the urge to shudder, he accidentally locked eyes with him. Joker felt the fear radiating from him.

Something in that gaze made him feel like he was looking into his very soul, trying to break him with that stare. Whitmore could feel his nerves getting to him. It would seem that the Joker was succeeding in breaking him down. He shifted nervously. _Why after all these years on the force does this one man make me feel so uneasy?_ Oddly enough he couldn't make himself look away. It was the first time he had seen the Joker in person; and since they had apprehended him this had been the first good look he had gotten of him. No wonder why people were afraid of him, he looked scary as shit.

No single aspect of him was in any way normal. It was all horrifying. His hair was painted with some weird green paint that gave him an unnaturally eerie effect. The paint that he was infamous for was smudged and looked oily; he was without a doubt a twisted clown from hell. Black paint smeared around his eyes made them look so sunk in, and that strange red smile painted around his lips. And then there were those scars. They looked rough and jagged, not smooth as you would think a scar would be. It was as if whatever instrument had been used to construct that twisted smile had been dull. Enough to make anyone nauseous. But the most eerie thing was his clothes, they seemed so perfect in contrast to his face. And they were green, purple, and blue. You wouldn't think of those colors when you thought monster. Whitmore thought about something like Easter, but not ever again. From now on he was going to be thinking of the demonic clown thought brought the flames of hell to this town.

"I don't think you should have done that Officer Whitmore," he snarled, enunciating the consonants in every word making his speech almost sing-song like. He licked his lips, meriting more dried blood and paint on his tongue. But he didn't notice this time, this time all he felt was rage. Turning his head, he looked at the other officers, each too terrified to say anything. There was a scuffle as the female took an involuntary step backwards and his head snapped around in her direction. He smiled wide, showing her his teeth. "What's the matter, are you afraid? Now why would you be afraid of me when I am plainly handcuffed on the ground with six guns pointed at my head?"

He knew the sound of his voice had made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. It was written all over her face. A rookie. He hoped she did not play poker, she would be terrible at bluffing.

Mia, was pretty fresh out of the academy. This was not what Mia had been expecting on her third week on the SWAT team. Maybe she wasn't cut out for this. She had joined after having been walked all over in the past. She was here mostly to prove that she could stand up for herself. She wanted to prove she was just as strong as any man, but she could barely even swallow right now. Taking a breath she looked him in the eye, "I don't trust you." She immediately regretted locking eyes with him. Those eyes bored through her filled with malice. Those were demon's eyes, no resemblance that there was a human soul in there.

Everyone jumped as a shrill laugh escaped the Joker's throat. "I don't blame you my dear. After all, I am a terrible man. Or so they say." Whitmore looked between the clown and the rookie. There was no remorse in his voice, nothing that even hinted that he had once been a good person. He was still amused, angry or not; he was still getting a kick out of this whole thing. Whitmore's whole damn team was scared shitless.

It was the way he wanted it. They were all scared shitless, so frightened that each of them was off in their own heads. No longer functioning like the well oiled squad that they were supposed to be. Everyone was nervous expecting him to put up some sort of fight or disappear in a cloud of smoke. However he was not that kind of clown. He always planned things out, and made them big. Simply trying to fight his way out would get him killed. No, he had a better idea. It seemed everyone had grown silent, too shaken to say anything. No one moved. He just sat there on the sidewalk waiting for what was next.

If only he could stretch his arms. The dull ache was beginning to turn into numbness, the cuffs a little too tight. There was a pulsing coming from his ankles, and now he could feel the blood starting to dry. It felt dry and itchy. Just like his nose. _Just one fucking scratch._

His legs were starting to numb as well, the hard concrete not exactly helping. It made his derrière sore.

A crackle of static came over one of the teams' radios followed by the voice of Jim Gordon. "Gordon to SWAT team, where is he now?"

Whitmore was the one to answer, finally breaking the silence. "Squad leader to Gordon. We have him detained at rendezvous point commissioner. Waiting for your orders sir." An awkward silence ensued as he waited for a reply. Again he shifted his weight, doing anything to take his mind off of the fact that he was within three feet of the most dangerous criminal in the world. Taking a glimpse down, he saw the the clown was still undaunted by any of this.

At last there was an answer. "Keep him there, I'm going to drive the bastard myself." Whitmore didn't even bother responding. The tension there was so high that he couldn't have kept his voice calm even if he wanted to. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he removed his helmet to wipe away the sweat that was running down the side of his face. It was the stress rather than the heat that brought this on. Anxiety was all he could feel; he just wanted to go home to his wife. If he could just tell her everything was alright, maybe he could make himself believe it as well. She would be so relieved to hear that the psycho was behind bars where he belonged.

He had thought about putting his helmet back on, and decided against it. It was almost over now.

The Joker watched as the rest of the team reluctantly removed their helmets as well, weariness setting over on all of them. Those stupid morons, he thought. They just left themselves wide open! That would be their downfall.

The weary clown took the opportunity to look up at the building that he had been dangling from just twenty minutes ago. The red and blue flashes from the patrol cars were barely distinguishable from here. The building though, the building loomed over the city. He didn't remember it being that tall. From the ground it looked more intimidating. Lucky for him Batman didn't have the heart to let him die. He knew that he wouldn't; it wasn't part of his moral code. It was so exhilarating manipulating such a strong-minded man as him. If he could mess with his mind he could do anything he wanted to! Nothing would stop him.

There had been rumors being discussed amongst the crowd while they had walked to the van that Harvey Dent had been found dead. Batman the supposed murderer. That was wrong the Joker thought to himself. If that masked vigilante couldn't kill him, why the _hell_ would he kill _Dent_? Stupid people of Gotham. Just pick someone, just so long as you have someone to blame. This was exactly what he had set out to prove, the city was corrupted and it always would be. Not even the Batman could change that. If he was correct, then the bat would be long gone by now. The rest of the force would be after him to have someone to crucify over the body of their beloved Dent. That worked out in his favor. Even he couldn't have planned this out any better.

Though he had not gotten himself into this expecting to be strung upside down 20 stories above the ground, but it had been a possibility. So there was a back up plan. There was always a back up plan. Out of all the lessons that he had learned as a child, that was the one that had stuck with him. Actually that was the only thing that he had retained from that miserable period known as childhood. More advice than a lesson really. Don't leave yourself without a way out. And he never did.

Speaking of which, it was about time to start. He had waited just long enough to put the city in to some sort of comfort, believing that he had finally been caught. Just what he wanted. Manipulating people and their emotions was his specialty.

He found it flattering that the Commissioner himself had planned on taking care of business. It was so like him to take charge, but Jim Gordon was not part of his plans tonight. If he waited any longer the good old commissioner's wife would be most displeased to hear of her husband's untimely death..._again_. Oh Jim was going to owe him one. He had earned some shred of respect from the Joker for the little stunt that he had pulled. Even he had been fooled, and that was a task within itself. So he was going to let him live for now.

And as all the officers shook with anticipation, the Joker forced himself to his feet awkwardly, quite a task without using one's arms. His body screamed at him as he put weight on his injured ankles. Ignoring it, he pushed himself to a standing position earning him the frantic attention of the officers. Six gun barrels stared him in the face.

"Now now gentlemen...and _lady_," He said as an after thought. "Didn't your parents ever teach you not to point?" He chuckled, obviously amused by his own joke.

The clown rolled his neck around in a circular motion; and turned to the man that had kicked him earlier. He didn't budge, but instead stared intensely back at him. He seemed to be the most calm of the six. The most calm, but definitely still terrified. It was the paleness of his skin that gave him away. Then there was that look in his eyes. The deer in the headlights look. What the Joker referred to as the "oh shit" look. He was trying his best to prove that he was still in charge. Just like everyone else Whitmore dared to think if he acted tough enough that the Joker would back down.

"Hey now, you get back down. We don't want any funny business from you. So just get back down on the ground, and I won't shoot you in the face." Joker just smiled at him, mocking him.

"As much as I would like to cooperate with you Officer, I made plans for this evening. And those plans, well they just don't seem to involve going to jail tonight. So if you'll just let me go, I would hate to be late," He was cut short by the sound of one of the other members taking the safety off their hand gun. A strand of green hair fell into his face as he turned to look at the man who until now had gone unnoticed by him. He was visibly shaking, fearing for his own life. The kind of man that would screw every single one of the others over if it meant he was going to live. The Joker hated men like that. They were so easy to bend, so weak minded. They were no fun at all. As dull a sport as bingo. Then he turned back to Whitmore.

He looked shaken. "Just get back down." His hands were trembling now, barely able to keep a hold of the assault rifle that was aimed at the Joker's head. He seemed to be trying to remind himself that the man was in handcuffs, but there was that thought of all those whack jobs that seemed to love him. They could be hiding anywhere, ready to strike at his command. Suddenly he regretted leaving his helmet off, but he sure as hell wasn't going to bend over in front of this psycho and let him know that he was afraid.

"Sorry. But once again officer, I have plans. I hope you don't mind." He licked his lips again and offered a grin to Whitmore. All this talk was just to keep them distracted long enough for him to wiggle his hand into his back pocket. All part of the plan. Scare them and keep them looking at his face. It was difficult wriggling his fingers into the sweat soaked fabric of his pants. His gloved hand felt slippery, also drenched in sweat. Finally his fingers managed to penetrate the pocket flap. There kept tucked away, was a second detonator. Too bad that they hadn't thought to search him before they put him into his cuffs. Guess protocol went out the window when you're frightened enough to wet yourself.

"You don't mind, do you?" He smiled as his hand came in contact with the box shaped object with a small raised bump in the middle. The button to his salvation.

Whitmore and the rest of the cops were starting to get antsy. Like mice being cornered by a cat.

"You stay back. Don't do anything stupid! I am ordering you to get down on the ground or I'm going to shoot!" At that notion, the rest of the team took the safety off their guns and he found them all ready to shoot him. Too bad they weren't going to get that far.

"Ummm..._No_?"

It took less than a half second for him to push the button in and then he watched in glee as everyone turned around and the earth trembled. There was an eerie red gleam in his eye as an explosion ripped through the night sky. All traffic lights on the block went out leaving the Joker and the SWAT team enveloped by the pitch black streets. He imagined that some debris had fallen on one of the utility poles. Not expected, but very, very favorable. Everyone's eyes were now attracted to the skyscraper that he had been hanging from moments before. This was his back up plan. Maybe he couldn't blow up those ferries but he sure the hell was going to blow something up. The night just wouldn't be right without it.

The C4 had been set up in the middle floor, next to most of the main support beams. All of this well thought out. He had procured the schematics of the building months before this night. It had been the most strategic location for the explosion. The effect was that the building imploded on itself, crumbling down on the the bystanders and the cops that were still in the building. Debris went sailing everywhere. A bizarre shower of jagged sharp steel and glass. If it rained in hell, this would be what it was like. It was glorious.

For the moment it seemed that the SWAT team had forgotten about him, too horrified to turn away from the burning building in the distance. He smirked and continued to dig through his pocket. There in the bottom was a bobby pin. Which he had learned was very good for picking locks. And he was very good at it. 30 seconds was all it took to free himself from those dreaded cuffs. He rubbed his wrists, trying to bring some feeling back into them. Before he did anything else he brought his hand up to take care of that damn itch. _Much better_.

Through curls of oily hair he looked up again, to his surprise not one of them had turned around. Everyone still mesmerized by the fireworks. Keeping one eye on the team he dug through his jacket pockets and pulled out his blade. This one was his favorite, it was the one that had caused his scars. Someone else might have found that mortifying, but to him it was a reminder. It was his souvenir. He had used it on that phony batman and every other person that he had deemed worthy enough to bare the same scars. He had seen it as..._sharing._

He rubbed the handle, thankful to have it back in his hand. Thankful to be able to use it again. As he flipped open the knife, two things happened then. One was that a very loud voice yelled into the radio, "This is Jim Gordon to SWAT team! Put him down! _PUT HIM DOWN_!" All at once they all came out of their trance, turning back to the Joker frantically. Whitmore cursed himself for taking his eyes off of the bastard for even a second.

The second was that the clown grabbed the female officer and pressed the knife to her pretty little throat. She squirmed beneath him. He licked his lips and whispered into her ear, "Now dear, the more you struggle the more it's going to hurt you know?" Illustrating for her, he pressed the knife further into her skin, earning a small drop of blood. Warm tears spilled onto his gloved hand as she sobbed.

"Please...please." Mia sucked in a shaky breath. "I don't want to die...not now." She closed her eyes and whimpered. More tears poured out as he pressed his cheek to hers.

"I like it when women beg," he said while licking his lips again. He looked down at her, noticing her brunette hair pulled into a tight ponytail. No makeup, plain. Natural beauty though. She might have been attractive to him, had she not been bawling her eyes out at the moment. Too young and inexperienced to put up any type of a fight. Too bad, he liked it when they struggled. Regardless of all that, she still worked very well as a hostage. Perhaps even better with the whole sympathy thing.

He had everyone's attention now. And he was relishing in it. Tightening his grip around her waist he whispered into her ear. "Tell me dear, is this the first time you've ever begged for your life?" Unable to answer she just nodded, eyes closed tightly. She was trembling, making it all the better for him.

"Let her go," Whitmore screamed. His hands were damp, barely able to keep hold of his rifle. He tightened his grip. God damn it, he was not going to let this rookie die. She was barely even 25 for fucks sake! They were not going out like this. Not to him.

Joker shook his head, cackling. "Oh, you tell the best jokes Officer Whitmore. But mine are better." Keeping his knife pressed to Mia's slender throat, he raised his other arm into the air, holding it straight up like a child would do in school. He grinned devilishly at the other officers as he bent down to smell Mia's hair. "You smell very nice," he said tauntingly. God how he loved this part. The torture.

"Put your hand down! I will fucking shoot you! Let her fucking go!" The Joker looked up with a smirk and raised his eyebrow. Whitmore tried not to flinch as his partner Carlos took a step backwards. Something was very wrong. They were losing control of the situation too fast.

"Well. Only because you insisted. You have a wonderful night Officer." With that he brought his arm straight down in a quick, swift motion.

Before Whitmore could figure out what was going on, there was the briefest moment of agonizing pain as a bullet pierced through his skull. Mia let out a piercing scream as Whitmore's body fell to the ground with a thud.

"Oh my god!" She lurched forward in an effort to get to her dead squad leader, resulting in the blade digging deeper into her skin. She stopped at once feeling warm liquid flowing down into her uniform.

The sound of thunder filled the air as four more shots rung out, four more bodies falling to the ground. Each member of the team murdered except for the girl still in the Joker's grasp. She stared ahead, mouth agape. She was so helpless...they were all gone. Every single one of them.

The radio crackled again. "Whitmore! What happened? Answer me!"

Joker looked from the woman's face to the receiver that was clipped to her shirt just above her chest. Keeping the knife as a warning, he used the other hand to grab the radio, purposely grabbing more than just the radio. Mia flinched.

"Hello commissioner. It's your favorite criminal...the Joker. But I guess you already knew that. Just so you know...it's awfully messy over here. Bring a broom and a mop." He laughed into the receiver. He was silent for a moment. Then he added in a taunting tone, "Oh and commissioner? You have a good night."

He dropped the receiver leaving it hanging by the cord and looked at the woman that was trembling in his grasp. Tears were streaming down her beautiful face. Her eyes were closed tightly, praying that this was all just one horrible nightmare. Now what was he going to do with her? Slowly he reached up to touch her face and caress it. Wiping the tears away just in time for more to come flooding out. So fragile and vulnerable.

"Now now. Calm down, you're getting blood all over me." He held his sleeve up for inspection. Sure enough crimson staining his purple coat. "Open your eyes," he said sweetly.

She shook her head slowly, moaning. _This can't be real. This can't be real._

Rage swept through him. When he gave orders they were meant to be carried out. "OPEN YOUR EYES!" He shook her violently for good measure.

Slowly she opened her eyes, fearing what he would do if she didn't listen. He was holding up his blood soaked sleeve in front of her face. Her chest rose and fell quickly, hyperventilating. "Look at this mess. That's from you," he said calmer this time.

She concentrated on his sleeve, not wanting to anger him anymore. "I'm sorry...please."

"Oh dear, I'm not going to kill you. Not this time. You were the only one that was truthful with me tonight."

Mia looked up at him confused and he smirked. Licking his lips he whispered into her ear again, "Remember? You told me you didn't trust me." Mia nodded, unsure of where this was going._ Please god. I don't want to die_.

She took a shaky breath and watched silently as he inspected his sleeve. Nonchalantly he asked her, "What do you use to get blood out? Is there some trick?"

"I...don't...know," she answered in between sobs.

"Some help you are," he shoved her away from him. The clown turned away from her, uninterested. Mia felt her hand automatically go up to her throat, thankful to be alive. Warm blood spilled over her fingers; hand trembling she tried to apply pressure. She stayed petrified as he started digging through Whitmore's pockets.

There was a metallic clinking as he pulled something out of one of the pockets. Holding up dangling keys he winked at her. "Bye bye now." And with that he stood and stretched. Without even a glance behind him, he walked away from Whitmore's body. His shoes creating a soft echo in the darkened streets.

He turned to his left as several men dressed in purple exited the vacant building adjacent to the van. Just as several more in different buildings would be doing as well. Fifty of them in all if he remembered correctly. His snipers all dressed identical to him. Each of them unaware that they were just pawns to him. As he opened the driver's door, he watched as they each took off in different directions. Previously he had given them each an address to return to. For safety he had told them. Whether or not they realized he was lying, he didn't care. The whole town would be out looking for him so he needed a distraction. So he made one. Knowing Gordon, he would search the rough neighborhoods. That's what they expected of him, to hang with scum. No one would be expecting him to be hiding in a ritzy neighborhood. It was irritating to him. Just because he was what he was automatically he was associated with trash. Wouldn't Gordon be surprised when he found all those fifty jokers, none of them the original!

Her eyes closed tightly, she heard a rumble as the ignition started. Streams of tears fell down her cheeks, mixing with the blood in her now soaked uniform. A few moments later the sound of the engine faded away, and slowly she opened her eyes. Nausea swept over her suddenly and she lurched over as her lunch spill over her uniform and the pavement. She didn't even bother to wipe her mouth, and she could feel snot running from her nose. What the hell did it even matter?

* * *

Gunshots. _Plural._ What in the hell had happened? He knew that they should have just taken in him in the damn squad car. It had taken him too long dealing with Dent to arrive in any sort of timely manner. Screw the damned armored van. It had been for safety. To protect his men. To get them away from all of the civilians. So stupid, he had outwitted them again! There was no safety when it came to the Joker. He knew it when he heard the gunshots, but his humanity didn't want to admit it. So, he ran as fast as his already tired limbs would let him.

As Jim Gordon approached the scene he saw five bodies. "Damn it," he yelled. Each with a gunshot to the head. Their expressions frozen on their face. Each sprawled out motionless. Gordon felt the same familiar anger that he felt any time the Joker was involved. He looked up at the windows of the buildings that were supposed to be vacant. He had thought removing him from the crowd would somehow falter his plans. Obviously he had outsmarted them all, thinking of every scenario. Damn it! And now Batman was a fugitive. How the hell were they ever going to bring this monster down?

Sobbing came from the sidewalk, and he saw the youngest of the team shaking in the road. Shit. He ran, coming to her aid. Damn it..he had cut her. Mia just whimpered as Gordon knelt down and tilted her head to the side, inspecting the wound with a flashlight.

Jim pushed his glasses back onto his nose as he reached for his radio. "Dispatch, this is Gordon. I need EMT's at the rendezvous. Multiple casualties. One Minor injury."

"Roger Commissioner. This is dispatch. Sending an ERV to your location now."

He sighed heavily and turned to Mia. Her eyes stared blankly ahead, probably scarred for the rest of her life. The look in her eyes said that she would never be the same again. He placed his hand on her shoulder, and Mia flinched. "Mia...Mia. I need you tell me what happened here."

She looked up at him through bloodshot eyes. She tried to focus on him, but the tears wouldn't stop coming. Vaguely, she was aware that her hand was still covered in blood. His hand was where her's had been, over the cut on her neck. This was not what she had signed up for.

"I quit."

* * *

The beginning of this chapter describes what Joker would have thought if he had led a normal life, this is a clue to his past. Look for this in future chapters.

Black Gate refers to Black Gate Penitentiary. This is the prison in Gotham

The stunt that the Joker refers to is the scene in TDK where it is revealed that Gordon had faked his own death.

All officers besides Gordon in this chapter are not from any variation of the Batman Universe.


	2. Uninvited

_AN-Thanks guys for reading, I hope you are enjoying. I just wanted to say that though these next chapters seem a little light, it will not be the undertone for the rest of the story. At times it can be downright morbid and dark. It will end up being quite twisted. Also if the Joker does anything that might seem out of character, there is a very good reason for it. However you will have to continue reading to find out why. :)_

_So don't worry I'm not changing his character or anything like that. Just a warning that things he may do might seem a little bit off even for him._

_You're going to notice Joker reacting positively to not having to stay in a warehouse. I see it a lot in fics where he sleeps on the ground or on a filthy mattress just because. I feel like he takes what he can get, but he does enjoy life's comforts just like everyone else.  
_

_Also, this is kind of an AU type thing, but not too ridiculous. I'd also like to point out this is romance, not smut. Therefore, it will take quite some time for the romance to develop. Just like it would in real life. It's not an immediate let's be soul mates kind of thing. It's slow going. Though it will appear in the beginning that they have an immediate liking of each other, such is not the case. They are simply fascinated by one another. To both of them, it's a game in the beginning. Well...you'll see._

_Please do enjoy_

**_Laughter is the best medicine._**

_Let's put a smile on that face._

* * *

Those eyes were so damn _blank_. Staring across the table at him. Ankles shackled, slumped over in the chair. Purple suit wrinkle-free and spotless in striking contrast to the dirt underneath his fingernails. Strands of green hair hanging in clumps around his white face. That white oily face with thick green eyebrows to match his head. And that hellish grin of rosy red painted wide across his face. But those void _blue_ eyes mocking him; they were what bothered him the most. They were filled with mirth, like he was poking fun at Gotham PD.

Gordon restrained his anger, determined not to let it show. It was so hard not to, the fatigue setting in something fierce. He had not wanted to leave Barbara and their children, but he had had a job to finish. It would have brought him a sense of security for the first time in a long time to have brought the bastard in himself. Sure the force would have understood if he took the rest of the night off, but Jim felt that it was his responsibility. Now his men were dead, and the Joker was free...again. It brought a wave of rage and hopelessness to the newly appointed commissioner. He should have just let the SWAT team take him in. He could have met them at the precinct! But it was too late for that.

Taking off his glasses to wipe sweat from his forehead, he glanced up at the clock that hung from the otherwise plain wall of the interrogation room. _3:13_. His wife was going to be worried sick about him. Guilt pestered him, knowing that she was going to be up all night worried sick about him. Hell even if he was at home she wouldn't have been able to sleep. Both her life and their children's lives had been at stake hours before. After everything that had transpired tonight it would be a wonder if any of his family got any sleep for the next year.

The clown still stared blankly at him. Jim watched his cuffed hands fidgeting, obviously nervous. Then he glanced back up at his face. _No scars_. It would seem that the Joker got the last laugh in after all. Sending these fakes out in a heinous, yet clever arrangement. Gordon would have never thought of it himself. He wasn't that conniving. Nor had the patience for any of it. But more than that, he wasn't a criminal. The Joker was. As abhorrent as this man was, so was he cunning. It unnerved Jim in the worst way. He wasn't just one step in front of them, he was twenty steps ahead at all times. Anticipating their moves like a very skilled chess player. It was obvious that he had operatives inside of the PD. Not just the PD but also the mobs, the banks, the hospitals, city hall, trading communities...everywhere. Jim felt helpless knowing that he even had his hand in the bureaucracy that he respected and served. It was all falling apart, corrupted by fear and money. Sometimes he wondered why he was still working in the law enforcement system. He was one man, but as Barbara had told him, it only takes one man to make a difference. Even if he only saved one person's life, one life was still a difference. Maybe that was what had kept him going for so long. Then there had been the Batman. The vigilante had given him a renewed sense of hope and purpose. Now even he couldn't help Jim and Gotham now.

He put his glasses back on his face, trying to think of something to make this man crack. So far he had evaded every question that Jim had asked, reciting answers that the Joker had drilled into his head. There was that eerie smile on his face with every sentence, pleased to be doing his boss's bidding. Just like the other two he had interrogated before him.

The first had giggled uncontrollably. Gordon hadn't been sure whether it had been a nervous habit, or if he was amused by some inside joke that only he and the Joker were part of.

His second interview, the pseudo clown had repeated every question that the Commissioner had asked. Lunatics. No wonder the Joker used them for his dirty work; they were so far gone from reality that they probably couldn't help him even if they wanted to. They were the puppets and the Joker was the puppet master.

"I will ask you one more time. Where is the Joker?" Jim placed his hands palms down on the white table and waited patiently for any response. At least as patiently as his nerves would let him. He hoped that being amiable with this disturbed man might ail more favorable results.

Unhindered by any of Gordon's tactics, the dead stare continued. In one of the very rare moments of rage in Jim Gordon's life, he felt an urge to deck this man that sat there taunting him. But more than that, he wanted to deck the Joker for making fools out of his whole entire unit. Punching that monster right in his permanent smile would feel pretty good about now. Jim had to take a deep breath to clear his head. _Easy Jim, it's just the frustration and fatigue talking to you. You can't go losing your head, that's what he wants._

His aggravation didn't go away. Anger doesn't work, sympathy doesn't work, fear didn't do anything. How the hell was he supposed to get anything out of this nut job? He brought his fist down on the table suddenly, earning a jolt from the prisoner. "He's going to keep killing people," he yelled at no one in particular.

Something seemed to have changed in the mental patients demeanor. Gordon raised his eyebrow, curious. Probably reminded him of how his boss gave out orders, violently. Pushing that thought aside, Jim tried to use it to his advantage. The detainee seemingly listening for the first time that night.

"You don't want anyone to get hurt do you?"

Gary looked up at the officer across the table from him. Gordon pressed further asking him did he want people to die? His mind seemed to struggle to wrap around the idea. Jim hoped that the man could see the connection between the safety of civilians and the surrender of the Joker's location. He wished that he could read the look in his eyes, so foreign to him. He needed a psychologist, but their hadn't been one readily available at this hour. They were on their own until tomorrow morning rolled around. Which left them in a frantic search of a terrorist that was too crafty to be caught by any normal means. They needed help.

"You...you're a bad man." Gordon was shocked at the statement. What in God's name had Joker put into their heads to convince them that the _PD_ were the bad guys?

"That's what Joker told me." He leaned forward, whispering to Jim. "They don't understand you like I do. No one will ever understand you like I do," he said in his best imitation of his boss. "He said that the demons would come for us, try to turn us against him."

Gordon sat there, appalled at such an outrageous statement. That sick sadistic brute. Twisting their minds like that. They saw him as some sort of savior, some sort of God.

Gary was rocking back and forth now. "We have to be strong for Boss. Can't let him down. Boss says you are the ones that want to destroy the world...Boss wants to save it."

There was a far off look on the prisoner's face. Jim gave up, resigning for the night. He couldn't handle this. In fact he probably had damaged any chance he had getting through to Gary. Only a professional could help him now. He was only muttering nonsense.

"Joker gives me my medicine. Makes the darkness go away. You want to take away the light! I won't let you send me to the devil!" Gordon tried to stand up slowly, trying not upset Gary any more. His eyes were no longer blank, but wild with rage. He tried to lunge at Gordon, tripping over his ankle chains and crashing into the table instead.

Jim jumped up, stunned. Although his assailant was bolted to the floor and unable to get to him, he still felt his heart pounding away in his chest. He looked down at Gary; the man attempting to get up for another strike. The door burst open, two guards rushing in. "Hands in the air now!"

Bewildered, Gary spat at them and launched himself at one of the guards. He fell to the ground again, face landing hard on the concrete floor. The two guards retaliated. One aimed his gun ready to fire if needed while the other tackled Gary back to the floor. Gordon flinched as Gary let out a blood curtailing scream.

"You can't stop him! He'll win! He's going to send the demons back to hell!" He watched as the guard mumbled profanity under his breath, succeeding in in restraining Gary. He pulled him to his feet and dragged the struggling man from the room.

Jim shook his head. "That man needs a shrink, not a man with a badge." He only wished it would be sooner than later. Gary would be detained at the station for the rest of the night before being shipped to Arkham in the morning. The only thing they could do at the moment was tranquilize him, keep him from hurting someone or himself. He wished he knew more about this, but it wasn't exactly his area of expertise. He was a cop for Christs sake.

"You okay Commissioner," the other guard asked. Jim nodded and rubbed his eyes. "Some fucking night huh?" He motioned at the table that had been knocked over and lay on its side.

"Yeah...Some night." The two men left the room, both thoroughly exhausted. He stopped to look through one of the double sided mirrors, another interrogation in progress. Same thing, purple suit, clown makeup, and someone completely off their rocker. "Stan...They aren't going to say anything. He has them convinced that he's some sort of _God_. That man swore that I was here to send him to hell. The Joker made them all believe that he's some sort of savior. It's like he knows exactly what to say to them. Borderline, Schizophrenic, multiple personality, it's like he's an expert."

The officer on the other side of the mirror looked just as frazzled as Gordon. "They need to be in Arkham...not here. We aren't trained for this sort of thing. We're meant to protect and serve, not find out what makes these people tick."

Stan nodded. "Look at this guy, talking to himself. And answering himself. That's some shit." He pointed as the crazy tilted his head to the side, engaging himself in conversation. "I heard Rick got a guy that tried to cut his own tongue out. And Charlie got a girl dressed up like the freak. She claimed that they were _in love_."

Jim raised his eyebrow. "It makes me sick, the way he twists these peoples minds around. He thinks they are toys. I wonder if that girl knows that he's left her here to rot."

Stan shrugged. "Probably not. Probably thinks he's gonna bust her out any minute. Poor girl." He ran his hands through his hair. "You look like hell Jim."

"Yeah. Just need some sleep. Haven't exactly gotten much lately." It showed in his face, dark bags under his bloodshot eyes. He had seen it earlier in the washroom. Looking into the mirror had startled him. It was not the reflection he remembered. But not many things had been as he remembered during these past few weeks. Things were changing. Things that made him question who he was really protecting. Especially since the Joker had eyes and ears that until recently they had been unaware of.

"I don't think anyone has Jim. Gotham is too afraid to sleep."

The commissioner shook his head in dismay. How could something this terrible be so real? Why couldn't it all be a nightmare?

"Who do you think informed his snipers of the location of the retrieval van?" Stan looked up abruptly.

"Jim, you don't think it was one of _our_ men? He could have had men stationed in every building for all we know."

"I don't think so. In fact I know it was one of our men. He seems to be very good at manipulating anyone, including law enforcement. Wuertz, Berg, Ramirez." There was a pang of shame as he remembered finding her unconscious at her desk.

Something Harvey had said to her made her break down. Maybe the guilt of it all. She had confessed to everything. Said she had never meant for anyone to be hurt. He had returned with _'What the hell did you think he was going to do? Perform magic tricks?'_ She had just broken down into tears mumbling something about her mother. When they had come in to cuff her, she remained quiet. Jim had refused to look at her as they walked her to her cell.

Gordon shook his head, trying to rid the thought from his head. He pointed at the cop in the interrogation room. "For all I know that man in there is working for the Joker too."

"How do you know it was one of our guys," Stan asked.

"Witness reports state men dressed as clowns fleeing_ East_ of the Prewitt building."

"So?"

"No witness of any clowns fleeing North, South, or West...only _East_. Someone tipped them off. And some moron tipped the press off to the death of Harvey Dent. I had hoped to keep that until tomorrow with everything else that we have going on here. First Batman offs Dent, than Joker escaped. I don't know if the citizens can handle two blows like that in one night." _How worse would it be if they knew what Harvey had become_, Jim wondered.

Stan sighed and shook his head as Jim had done earlier. "Seems we need to do some housekeeping amongst our ranks."

"I agree. Starting tomorrow I want every damn officer put on a list alphabetically. Every single officer is to be interrogated. I don't care if they're on SWAT or traffic patrol. Everyone will be submitted to a list of questions pertaining to the Joker. We're going to hook them up to a lie-detector, put them in one of the interrogation rooms. Camera will record it all. Anyone who fails, I'm obtaining a warrant to search their homes. Anybody with anything in their homes that es even remotely evident that they are in league with the Joker is going into immediate state custody. I'm tired of rats in the system Stan."

"I see a few people being upset with that Jim."

"Then I'll take it my _damn_ self. The only reason they have to be upset is if they have something to hide."

* * *

Gotham was lit up, full of panic. He knew the fire engines were still spraying the blaze that had once been a building. It had been pouring through the radio the whole time he had been driving. Radio D.J.s reading the headlines of Joker's escape from the cards in front of them. He could only imagine that it was all over the television as well. He formed the picture in his mind, seeing the reporter speaking in the rhythmical emotionless tone. Reading the text that was scrolling across the prompt screen. Some headline scrolling across the bottom of the screen. Something like _JOKER OUTSMARTS THE LAW AGAIN._ Each station playing their own version of what happened. Some would pull the sympathy card, others would push the outrage of it all further, and the rest would blame the PD. It was fun seeing all the different reactions. Amusing to see how each individual handled their own fear.

Joker waited now in a dark parking garage, watching a patrol car pass by with its searchlights on. He listened to the steady _drip drip drip_ of a leaking pipe. He knew that they had found the abandoned van a few blocks from here. He had deliberately parked it right outside of what was affectionately dubbed the "_Brimstone District_" in The Narrows, knowing full and well that's where they would be looking for him. It was where all the scum of Gotham resided. The druggies, the dealers, homeless, thieves, rapists, murderers. All the people that Gotham PD expected him to fraternize with. Expecting him to hide within plain sight. Assuming that he would just hide in the closest building. _Typical_. They expected him to be the typical criminal. By definition he must be poor, helpless, senseless, _stupid_. These were things that definitely was not. Money didn't matter to him so much, but he could obtain it if needed. It seemed to influence other people to do his bidding. Helpless and senseless? _No_. They were too foolish to see what was right in front of their eyes. His fingers were everywhere, control over everything in this city. Far from helpless. As for stupid? His IQ had to be higher than 95% of Gotham's entire population. That was how he stayed so far ahead.

The patrol car made a left at an intersection, officially entering Brimstone District. The complete opposite direction that he was headed in. No one expected that the Joker would be hiding out with Gotham's royalty. Just beyond the part of town that the cops, the lawyers, and even some doctors lived in. He was headed for the district where all the wealthy resided. The who's who of Gotham. Where who had the biggest house had the most money.

He waited a few more minutes until he was certain that no other cars were going to come down the street. Then he proceeded to slink down the streets of Gotham, keeping to the shadows. Although most residents were inside their homes, possibly sleeping if not terrified; better safe than sorry. A person wouldn't have to be paying too much attention to realize it was the Joker. Not too many men walked around the streets at night donned in purple attire with paint on their faces.

It was pleasantly warm outside, a slight breeze picking up now and then. It felt good on his face, on his tired limbs. His ankles were throbbing with each step, and he could feel an ache in his side. Most likely due to a bruise acquired during his bout with Batman. He couldn't help but smile, finally finding someone who was as close to an equal as he could get. Before the Bat he had no purpose except his revenge. He had thought about ending it all frequently. At times living wasn't worth it. He was bored. The search for vengeance wasn't enough for him, he needed something more. Then there was Batman, the great challenge he had been looking for. Life had become fun again with Batman. Toying with his mind, his morals. He was resolved to make Batman question who he really was. A test. If someone like Batman could be led astray it would prove to the world that every man is corrupt. All they need is a little push.

Of course Gotham was convinced that Batman had killed Dent. But that wasn't enough. Surely most of the population was clever enough to figure out that the Batman hadn't committed homicide. Leave the Joker hanging from a construction site, but kill the white knight of Gotham? _Surely_ they weren't all that stupid. Then again he wouldn't be too surprised if they were.

Whether the people loved him or not, he was an outlaw now. Same as him, on the run now. It would make it much more difficult to play now. _Oh_ but he always found a way.

He could feel the dried blood starting to flake and itch. There seemed to be blood everywhere. Of course it was caked on his ankles, it also felt like he had a split lip, and then there was the wound in his chest and arm from the blades in Batman's gauntlets. The first thing he was going to do was take a nice hot shower.

It was quite a trek to the outskirts of town, a long one as well. Being wounded hindered his movement sure, but he would have made a hell of a lot more progress if he didn't have to ditch into an alley or into the darkness every time he saw headlights approaching.

Somewhere in the distance, coming from the heart of the city, he heard the familiar sound of the chiming of a clock. _One chime_. _Two chime. Three chime._

_3:00._ So, it was three in the morning when he reached a building that seemed to fit what he had been looking for. The Joker looked up at the glowing neon sign above the entrance. _Gotham Heights-Penthouses and Condos_. It seemed to be one of five buildings. The rest bearing the same blue logo. He could vaguely remembered seeing a billboard for Gotham Heights that advertised The grandest for the grandest of Gotham. There had also been an advertisement in the local newspaper that had promised a full kitchen, master suite, walk in closets, full bath with whirlpool tub, fireplace, marble floors, etc. At the bottom of the ad in tiny script it had said live like a millionaire. In other words:expensive as hell.

It was perfect. Gordon wouldn't ever think to look for him here. Nor would the rest of GCPD for that matter. _Now_...which floor to go to?

He entered through the parking garage, taking a glance around he noticed that each parking spot had a room number. Each resident had their own spot. It was no surprise that the penthouse spot was closest to the elevator that led to the living area above. On closer inspection he realized something about this garage; it was bare. Not a single car. The residents were probably still outside of the city, waiting until it was safe to return. If it was ever safe again. Well, he had made his mind up then. Penthouse it was.

He rubbed his hands together as he waited for the elevator doors to open. He couldn't but help feeling a little giddy staying the night in a room that was meant for someone as important as royalty. There was a ding as the door slid open and the Joker boarded. The button labeled Penthouse was above the number and was much larger than the rest. Even the elevator button screamed important. He closed his eyes, the familiar sensation of his stomach dropping as the elevator ascended to the top level. _Ding._ The doors slid open again.

Now he was facing a large Mahogany door in an otherwise vacant hallway. Obviously it was locked, he hadn't expected it to be _that_ easy. The thought that there might be an alarm ran through his head, and he contemplated whether or not he should pick the lock. The last thing he needed was cops showing up to a penthouse that was supposed to be unoccupied. On the other hand, he hadn't even seen a security camera in the whole building. Of course that was part of the appeal of the place, they had emphasized privacy. Instead of cameras, a private company ran an hourly drive through surveillance via security guard. It was probably a safe bet that not a damn room in the whole complex had an alarm. Typical.

Digging through his interior pocket, he found the bobby pin that he had used earlier. As he started picking at the lock, trying to get the tumbler to fall into place, it occurred to him that if this door had a dead bolt he was going to be fucked. There was a loud click as the tumbler fell into place and the door unlocked. It had taken less than five minutes. Shit, they really weren't thinking security when they built the place. He grinned.

There was a small groan as the door swung open. He slowly tiptoed into the room, and laughed inwardly at himself. Perhaps it was the fact that it was night that had him slinking around. Or maybe the fact that he still expected the police to be following him, but either way it was silly. If this whole building was vacant, he had no need to be quiet.

He stepped over the threshold and glanced around into the void. All he could see was shadows and pale light from the walls. That would be the windows. He thought about turning on the light, then decided against it. If no one was supposed to be home, he didn't need someone noticing from outside. So he waited for his eyes to adjust to the faint moonlight that filtered in from the windows. He closed the door and it clicked shut behind him. Slowly the room started to come into focus and shadows became objects.

The entrance room to the penthouse was bigger than anything that he had ever seen. The ceilings were vaulted making the room feel considerably larger. It felt like a palace, and this was just the front room! He stepped further into the room, and noticed all the lavish commodities that filled the room. There were leather recliners, plush sofas, and statuettes. There were luscious Persian rugs laying on wooden floors, and priceless paintings hanging from the walls. Everything in the place worth more than just precious pennies. Live like a millionaire indeed.

It seemed that it was all luxury, possibly for impressing company. He thought perhaps a banker lived here. A single man, middle aged, probably losing his hair and slightly over weight. Probably considered unattractive, and sleazy. The type of man that would need all these possessions to turn a woman's head. Funny how money changes things.

There was a familiar scent lingering in the air. Something like spiced orange or cinnamon. Whatever it was, it reminded him of fall. So why would a middle-aged banker have something like this in his home? To make women more comfortable, to put them in the mood he thought. What would the banker think if he knew that a murderous criminal was about to sleep in his bed? A chuckle escaped his lips as he thought about this pathetic man squirming with discomfort.

The Joker made his way further into the home, relishing in the fact that he would have a comfortable bed to sleep in tonight. How long had it been since he had not been in some flea-bitten hotel laying on stained sheets in a room that smelled like an ashtray? Or for that matter, on a warehouse floor, the backseat of a car, or in a padded room? Too long. Far, _far_ too long. He passed a marble fireplace and entered the hallway that led to the bedrooms. His feet sank as they met the plush carpet that seemed to fill the rest of the home.

He rubbed his hands together, hoping that the banker had splurged in the bedroom as well. But first, first he was going to take a scalding hot shower and wash this blood and grime off of his skin. The paint was starting to itch like hell. He knew he probably should clean his cuts and his wounds as well. He could feel the fatigue finally starting to take effect, his limbs felt heavy. The clown stopped at the door that he assumed was the master suite and turned the knob.

He pulled the door shut behind him and turned around intending to scope out the room. Instead he stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes trialling to the bed. There in the moonlight was the silhouette of a sleeping form underneath the sheets. An unpleasant surprise, but nothing that he hadn't planned for. In fact he had thought that this had been too easy, although it did take him by surprise since the rest of the building had been like a ghost town. Joker stood there for a moment, weighing out his options. He could just leave quietly and the poor schmuck would never know that he had been here, or he could kill the man in his sleep. The bastard would die peacefully. He opted for the latter, too exhausted to make the trek down to another room and fiddle with another lock. The pain was reminding him of its presence and he fought not to just collapse onto the bed. If not for the simpleton that he needed to deal with first, he would. Just collapse and let the darkness envelop him until morning light touched his eyelids.

He slid his hand into the inside of his jacket, digging for one of his knives. His hand came in contact with cold metal, it was a butterfly knife. Not his favorite, but it would still do the job quite nicely. With everything that was going on recently, Gotham would not miss one slimy banker. Taking a step forward, he started calculating the fastest way to slit the man's throat without waking him. As much fun playing with hostages was, he was in no mood to tussle with a struggling victim. He barely had the strength to kill a man who _wasn't_ fighting back.

He froze again as the body in the bed stirred and rolled over onto his side...wait a minute. _His_ side? The Joker licked his lips as certain details came into focus. This person was much slimmer than he had pictured, curves accentuated by the silk sheets clinging to the sleeping form. And as his eyes drifted upwards, he noticed an elevation in the chest that shouldn't be on a man._ No_. He was looking at a woman, and from what he could see in the dim light, a very _attractive_ woman. Skin of alabaster and silky raven hair. Even in the shadows she looked almost exotic. However, the one thing that he was interested in was the bumps in the sheets that were rising and falling with each breath. Suddenly he didn't feel as tired. Oh this was much better than the mousy little man that he had been imagining. She certainly wasn't a model, but he was sure she got plenty of attention for her looks. A little vixen. A vixen that would be repulsed by the sight of his scars. Maybe before the scars he could have succeeded in seducing such a vision, but now he would have to force a woman like this into submission. But would he be able to restrain her if she fought back? No, probably not. Any other night, but this night it was taking all of his strength just to stand up straight. But damn, had it been a long time since he had been with a woman.

He cocked his head to the side, he could scare her into submission. Recognizing his face from television normally merited his victims being petrified in fear. Too terrified to fight back, too paranoid and afraid of making him angry. But that would be no fun at all. How could he enjoy a woman if she was stiff as a plank beneath him? He liked his women to be lively. So that meant that he was going to have to carry out with the initial plan. He'd have to dispose of her in her sleep if he wanted to go the rest of the night without running from GPD. Such a shame, he had gone for quite some time without. At least she wouldn't know what hit her...or rather cut her. She would just keep on dreaming forever. Hell, he would be doing her a favor being this merciful. He liked that..._the merciful harbinger of death_. It had a nice ring to it.

Pushing all thoughts aside except that he still wanted a hot shower, he inched closer to the bed. Tip-toeing, trying not to wake his victim; he could feel the adrenaline starting to pulse through his veins. He felt more alert than he should have been at this time of night. There was nothing quite like an adrenaline rush, except maybe shooting up Epinephrine.

There was a loud crunch, and he realized that he had stepped on something glass. _Who the hell just leaves glass lying around on the floor of their bedroom?_ His eyes darted back to the bed, where it seemed his hostess had not yet stirred. Relief flooded over him, he did not have the patience tonight for a confrontation. Thankfully this woman was a heavy sleeper.

That thought went out the window when he heard a voice emanating from the bed. "Is there a reason why you broke into my house and are in my _bedroom_?" The tone was demanding instead of inquisitive, and much more soft and husky than he imagined. He had expected a high-pitched whiny voice. He had also expected her voice to waver, fearful. Instead she sounded confident and annoyed. Not at all what he had pictured. He expected a brat, penthouse probably being paid for by a trust fund. Or by Daddy. A selfish spoiled brat. But this was just one sentence, surely she still was as he pictured. Probably just putting up a front, hoping to catch her assailant off guard. He felt aggravated that it had worked. The Joker did not like it when someone tried to manipulate him.

Not many people tried. And no one succeeded. He was the one who did all the manipulating.

The room was quiet for several moments as he tried to improvise and pull a plan out of his ass. All he had to do was keep her quiet, and kill her quickly. He cursed himself as he nearly jumped from the sound of her voice calling out again. "Well?" It was at that moment that he noticed that the brat hadn't even opened her eyes. They were still closed...maybe she talked in her sleep? That didn't seem likely. Her breaths were shallower now; it amused him that he still could not remove his gaze from her chest. At the same time it was beginning to infuriate him that she was so nonchalant about all of this. She should have been trembling in fear, begging for her life. But instead she just laid there, shrugging him off as an idle threat. _Fuck that_. He was going to put some fear into that pretty little body. No one thought of the Joker as an idle threat.

"I'm running from the _police_," he said in a matter of fact tone, punching the last word. Hoping to drive some fear into her. Who wouldn't be terrified to have a fugitive standing just feet away from their bed? Again the response that he received was not the one that he expected.

"And that brings you to my house _why_?" His fists started to tremble and his grip on the knife tightened. She was still so calm and collected, talking to him as one would a child. Damn it, he was not going to be treated like some petty burglar. He was a God of war, and she was going to address him as such. Maybe he would ravage her just to prove a point to her. Nothing said fear me like being raped.

"Christ lady, do you know who I am? I think you better open you're eyes and get a good look at my face. Take a _real_ good look at it." He waited impatiently for some change in her demeanor, for her eyes to fly open and terror to spread across her face. He licked his lips.

Instead she smirked. What it was that she found amusing escaped him. "I don't need to see your face to know who you are. I recognize your voice, it has been all over the television for what seems an eternity now." She shifted again in the bed, and rolled over on to her stomach and slipped her arm underneath her pillow for support.

Joker's eyes widened, taken aback. Was this woman insane? She thought it was funny that he was here? He couldn't read a damn thing from her tone, something he was normally good at. There was nothing there. No fear or even anger. Just some slight aggravation, but other than that _nothing._ He wanted to beat her near death, make tears fall from her eyes. Break her bones, and cut into that flawless skin. Torture the hell out of her. Show her who the hell she was really messing with. Perhaps the only thing that rivaled his anger right now was his curiosity. Never before had he encountered anything like this. Everyone had some sort of emotion in their tone. Even Batman. But here was this simple woman, unreadable to him like ancient Egyptian.

He decided to press a little further before he killed her. He had an intense desire to know what made her tick. He knew what made everyone else tick, and anything otherwise was foreign. He felt an urge to push until she cracked. Until he could decipher what exactly it was that was going on here. It would chip away at him and drive him mad until he did. "Then you do know that I'm considered a very _dang-er-ous_ criminal, that I've killed masses of people. And I could kill _you_, my dear in a matter of sec-onds."

At first, she didn't stir. Then she took a deep breath and responded. "If that's what you are here for, get it over with. Otherwise, there is a guest bedroom down the hall. Either way, make up your mind. I don't like idle threats." He stared in disbelief. _What in the...?_ Everything she had said sounded so natural, like they were having a conversation about the weather instead her death. She was so unreadable. Not unlike himself. So infuriating, yet so..._intriguing._

And what was this with her offering a room to stay in? It seemed an odd thing to say to someone like him. Even other criminals wouldn't trust him enough to offer refuge for the night. "You would just lay there as I killed you? That's no fun dear. No fight in you, no..._fear_?" Every person had their deepest darkest fear. Something that could be used to exploit them. Except for himself of course. The Joker feared nothing.

"Death is _so_ trivial." She paused and the Joker found himself attentively waiting for her to continue. Somehow, against his will she was sucking him in. He had never met a person that held such a nonchalant view of death, except for himself. But was this a front, or was it legitimate? "I've looked death in the face before. It is inevitable, so why should I fear it? Besides I don't have much to live for."

That caught him off guard. Not the answer he would have expected from anyone else. "Nothing to live for?" He made a face that she couldn't see. This woman was so confusing. As all women were. But this was absurd even for a female. Was she suicidal?

"Nothing to live for?" He gestured to the door, forgetting that her eyes were closed. "What about all. That. _Stuff_?"

She shrugged. "Money doesn't buy happiness. It just buys _things_."

He raised an eyebrow. "I've heard around that material possessions can bring happiness. At least to some people. In any case, what about friends or family sweetheart? There has to be something to fight for. Something that drives you." He wasn't sure what he was trying to get her to admit. It was within his nature to ask personal questions. His mind always racing, thinking of how to get the best of someone. Who to threaten to get his way.

There was a coarse laugh.

"No friends. No family, save for one nephew. Tell me, does that really count as family?" Joker tilted his head, still not a single hint of emotion from her. What in the hell was going through this woman's head? And why did it matter? He was going to kill her in a few minutes anyway. It had to be the lust speaking to him. Though sex was so impersonal to him, he did enjoy the company of women. He had to admit, it was a little pleasant conversing with a female that he didn't have to throw money at just to look at him. There was something very appealing about that. Something irresistible about the thought of tussling in bed with a woman as tenacious as him.

She interrupted his thoughts. "So...if you are going to kill me. Stop wasting my time and do it. _If you can_."

A smile spread across his lips. _If you can_? It was a challenge. Well he hated to disappoint. "Well dear, any last words? Maybe a prayer?" He found it all very comical.

Gripping the knife tightly, he prepared to lunge. As he was about to strike, the sound of a gun cocking reached his ears. The girl's arm was stretched out behind her, a semi-automatic handgun in her grasp. _Bingo._

A chuckle filled the air. This was just too good. He knew that he would make her snap. "I thought..my dear...that you weren't afraid to die? Did you change your mind?" His finger idly fiddled with the blade of the knife. For now the anger seemed to be gone, replaced by amusement._ I knew you weren't as tough as you were pretending to be._

"I said I didn't fear death. I never said that I _wanted_ to die." His smile vanished. There was no hesitance like he was expecting. Obviously this girl had some guts to be mocking him. Part of him was furious, the other part admired it. She hadn't even bothered to turn around! She just held the gun behind her aimlessly. He couldn't even make himself be angry, he found this too entertaining.

So he laughed, his voice filling the room. This was so fun. Almost as fun as playing with Batman. "So...What? You're going to _shoot_ me?" He laughed again, doubling over. She didn't even know how close he was to her! It would be so easy to step out of the line of fire. He straightened, trying to regain his composure. "You're going to shoot me, without looking or aim-" The crack of a gunshot reverberated through his skull, causing his ears to ring. There was a wave of heat as the bullet whizzed by his left ear. His hands trembled slightly, and he could feel his pulse pounding away in his ears. But this wasn't from fear...no it was from _exhilaration_! She hadn't even given him a warning or taken a second thought. She just shot the gun at him. He felt so alive!

He looked over his shoulder, and saw a small hole in the drywall where the bullet had embedded itself. If it had been just a few inches to the right, the bullet would have gone right through his skull. He whistled in admiration. Though he could not decide if she had just fired blindly, or if she was really that good of a shot. Either or, he felt himself starting to take a liking to this girl. She wasn't the type to just play it safe. No, it was shoot first ask questions later. He liked that. It reminded him a little of himself. This woman could provide a plethora of entertainment for him. Now he would have someone to play with while Batman was away.

Joker looked back to the girl, the gun was still pointed at his head. "Next time I won't miss." She yawned as if bored.

The grin that was plastered to his face widened, if that was possible. "I believe you. Very nice shot. I'm slightly impressed." Vaguely he remembered that he was supposed to be tired, and the thought brought the dull ache back to him. He pushed it aside, this was just too much fun.

"_Slightly?_ I suppose that's better than not." He decided that it was time to see just how close he could get to her. Just to see how far her limit was. Sure she was talking casually to him, but could he push her comfort zone if he was closer? Would she squirm in fear, or take him head-on staying as level-headed as him? He liked the sound of either outcome. With the prior he would establish control and toy with her from there. On the other hand, it would be nice to play with someone as wreckless as he. He almost found himself in favor of the latter. It was hard to believe that there was someone as bold as him. Yet the curiosity was consuming him. Fun times could be had if they played together.

He was always up for a good time. Without another thought, he threw himself at the bed earning a reaction from her. She twisted around quickly, sitting up in the bed eyes finally open. With one hand, he grabbed her left arm roughly, forcing her against the headboard. There was a thud as her head hit the wall, which she seemingly did not notice. They found themselves weapons at each others throats. His knife pressed against her flesh, and the barrel of her gun pressed against the underside of his chin. It felt cool, almost refreshing against his flushed skin. He couldn't help but smile at her. Though he had been disappointed to see that she had been wearing a camisole covering up her pale skin. He had been hoping for less clothing. Even so, the top hugged her frame quite nicely. He didn't have to leave much to the imagination.

She cleared her throat, pulling his attention away from her chest and up to her face. He looked into her eyes for several moments, trying to discern any emotion that might be hidden there. _Eyes are the gateway to the soul._ He could not place the name of whoever had said this, but he agreed completely. Eyes gave everything away. If a person's face was disguised, those eyes did the unmasking. They told him when someone was afraid, angry, even if they were lying.

But as he looked closely into this woman's eyes, he couldn't see a damn thing. There was_ nothing_...nothing save his own morbid reflection looking back at him. Surely he had not lost his touch. No it had to be her! What was going through her pretty little head? And why did she enchant him so much? He felt frustrated never feeling so left out before. He had to know her secrets! Was this how everyone else felt when they looked into his hooded eyes?

Her voice poured through his ears, sounding amused now. "So. Which do you think will do the job faster? My gun or your knife?" The pitch was low and poetic, reminding him of a slow melancholic song. Almost soothing. That he was not used to, normally he panicked a person. The result was that it made him manic, enjoying the thrill of the dominating role. He could not decide if he liked this or not. His whole life revolved around chaos. The thought of a halcyon evening disturbed him. Unsettling as it was, he found himself wanting more. He did not understand, and naturally was curious.

"Want to find out," he asked at last.

"Not particularly. I would prefer to go back to bed. Important meeting tomorrow."

A smirk escaped his lips. Nothing seemed to phase this woman. Not even the fact that a blade was still pressed to her throat. "Important meeting? Sounds so boring. We would have much more fun if you played with me."

She said nothing. Silence followed. He glanced at the clock that was on the nightstand. Several minutes passed. Then a half hour passed. They had each other at a stale mate, and neither of them moved. He felt himself becoming restless, antsy. He couldn't bear the silence any longer.

"You don't like my games?" He frowned in mock sorrow. The only reaction he received was a raised eyebrow. So serious this one was. "Well then doll, tell me this. Why is it that the whole of Gotham runs in terror at the sound of my name, but you little lady, seem so fearless?" Involuntarily, he licked his lips. "Could you answer _that_ one for me? Inquiring minds are very anxious to know."

Those eyes locked with his, entrancing him in that moment. "Why do I not fear you?" She tilted her head to the side. "It is well known that when a human faces that which they do no understand, they fear it. Label it blasphemous and outlaw it. I'm not what you consider normal."

_Not normal?_ That piqued his interest. That much was obvious. But what was it that made her different? A rape? A murder? Maybe she was mentally unstable. Just his type.

"So. Are you trying to tell me that you understand me?" He knew that was not what she meant, but he wanted her to explain herself.

A glimmer of a smile surfaced for a fraction of a second, then dissipated as quickly as it appeared. "No. I don't think anyone will ever understand you. You _are_...too unique for generalizations and stereotypes. I think you are the only one that will ever understand yourself."

"Such a smart girl you are. Much smarter than the rest of the fools of Gotham. Want to give me a label. Try to cure me. The thing is, you can't fix something that isn't broken." He nodded at her. "But my dear we are off subject. You didn't tell me why you are so _peachy_ with having a wanted man in your bedroom. Please do tell."

"As I said normal people fear what they do not understand. I am fascinated by the unknown. To quote the old cliche, I'm drawn to it like a moth to the flame. Just like you are drawn to trouble. One of the unknowns to me is the mind of a criminal." She pointed to the bookshelf beside the bed.

Joker's eyes flitted over the titles. _Stalin. Manson. Bundy. Capone._ One caught his eye in particular._ History's Dangerous Criminals._ He looked back to her and let out a single boisterous laugh. "Ha! You weird little girl!" He removed his hand from her arm and slapped his knee. "So what, you _study_ criminals?"

"You could say that." She seemed to be studying him now, deciding how best to proceed. Sizing him up, as he was trying to do the same with her. However she would get about as much out of him as he was getting out of her. He was very good at hiding behind his mask. He should be after so long.

His eerie giggle filled the room. "Far from normal. Ha. This is just too good." Something tugged at the back of his mind, a minor detail. "Still, you're not even a _little_ scared of me? Even with my scars?"

She shook her head, eyes never faltering from his gaze. "What's your secret? You smoking something good? I don't smell anything. You gotta be on something, right?" He sniffed the air theatrically, as he expected it smelled just like the front of the penthouse. _Like fall._ Nothing in the room that even resembled drug paraphernalia.

She bit her lip, slowly starting to show some human habits. "Sure, something like that." Though it had sounded more like a sarcastic remark than she was actually hiding something. He decided to keep her going, attempting to break down the wall that she had up.

He laughed again. "Naughty, naughty girl. You really are much more a bad girl than I thought. So tell me sweetheart, do you feel like sharing? I bet you'd make a good smoking buddy. It has been a long night. I've got some pain." He pointed to the dried blood on his face. "And I need some medicine." Fleetingly he thought of pointing to his pants and saying something to the effect that he had a stiff muscle that needed massaging. But that simply wasn't classy enough for him to say.

"Sorry, the stuff I get is hard to come by. Besides, can't have my dealer running out of stock." Again, this seemed to come off as sarcasm, but he had little time to dwell on it.

Before he could reply, she caught him off guard and jumped away from the bed. He tried to regain control, but she shoved him away and pointed the gun directly at his head. As always death was at the back of his mind. He did not feel fear as others did. More an amusement. And he had a good source of entertainment tonight. "Are you going to kill me dear? I thought we were getting along so nicely."

She pondered a moment. "I don't think so. Not the kind of publicity I need. And, it's too early to be cleaning up that big of a mess." He grinned at her sarcasm. "Now I believe you were looking for a place to stay. So if that is still what you want, Second door on the left. Otherwise I think it's time for you to leave."

"And what if I don't leave?"

"I'll pull the trigger."

One thing finally showed in her eyes. _Sincerity._ She would pull the trigger. Intrigued by the criminal mind perhaps, that didn't mean that she liked them. Well, he would just have to convince her otherwise. He was now consumed with a burning desire to get inside of her head. Maybe he wouldn't kill her for a while. He would study her until her found her weakness. Maybe even give her the time of his life.

As much fun as he was having, he was reminded of his fatigue at the mention of a bed. Giving in, he slid his knife back into the lining of his jacket and held his hands up as if to say_ look I'm harmless_. Her eyes followed him as he stood slowly. If only she was watching him out of hunger and not with distrust. He'd let her study all of him. "I'll retreat to the other room if you tell me one thing," he said not being able to resist. "Why the hell are you letting someone like me stay here if you are so worried about publicity?" He had hoped to finally stump her, make her speechless. However he was not disappointed when she responded immediately.

"Think of it as a hand's on study." Good choice of words. He would certainly give her a really good hands-on study if she let him.

He chuckled. "Fair enough." He licked his lips again. Then he smiled. "If I fascinate you so much I'll stay." She said nothing, and he thought perhaps she really was crazy. That was okay. He liked crazy women.

He walked steadily across the room to the door, her gun following him the whole time. He paused at the door, turning around to see her weapon still aimed at him. "Sweet dreams doll." He mockingly blew her a kiss and stepped into the hall.

There was a metallic clank as a deadbolt slid into place. He couldn't help but let a giggle escape his throat. "There is a shower in the guest bathroom. I would recommend using it." He turned around, hearing the muffled voice from behind the door.

"Are you trying to say something?"

"Yeah. Take a shower."

Of all the things that he had prepared for tonight, he had never been prepared for anything like _her_.

* * *

Watch for mentions of the game of chess, it ends up being a big part of the story. The first mention is Gordon calling him a skilled chess player. The second mention is stalemate.

Stan, Gary, and any other characters other than canon characters in this chapter are of my own creation.

Harvey Dent has passed away in this AU, and will not be coming back.

Also, note that while Joker finds this woman attractive, she's not drop dead gorgeous, every man wants in her pants. The combo of her pale skin and dark hair gives her the exotic appearance. I want this to be realistic, and realistically the Joker is not going to go gaga for someone over their looks.


	3. Holy Grail

_Well I certainly am having fun writing this. I really appreciate the reviews I have received. I was worried that my writing would not be up to par, me being so rusty. So thanks guys for being so kind. Umm...this chapter is basically some character development. I am really trying to define the rest of the story with the description of the characters. We will get to know a little bit about Joker's past here. It's really hard to get into his head, but I did what I could! So hopefully you guys are satisfied! Also, don't be deceived by how nice he is being or the thoughts that go through his head. A reminder that he is not himself right now.  
_

_Thanks guys for reading!_

**_To forgive is to forget_**

_Wanna know how I got these scars?_

* * *

He had thought about making a smart comment, but decided against it. A shower was sounding _very_, very good right now. The dirt and make up were starting to make him feel suffocated.

Second door on the left she had said. The hallway was dark, and he groped along with his hands. He finally found purchase, and grabbed the cold, metal doorknob.

He opened the door, not really sure what he was expecting. Something lavish like the rest of the house. It seemed that she had not spared any expense anywhere in the home. He was not disappointed when he flipped the light switch by the door. There was large king size bed complete with silk sheets identical to the ones in the master suite. The furniture in this room was solid oak. Expensive taste this woman had. There were large bay windows that looked over the blinding lights of Gotham. Directly in front of the bed was a smaller version of the marble fireplace in the front room. He noticed a walk-in closet, door slightly open. Hell, he cold fit the whole bed in there. Very _cozy_, and very elegant for a _guest_ room.

To his left there was a door that led to the bathroom. It was standing ajar and Joker pushed it open. It was surprising how large the room was. Any other bathroom he had been in was normally cramped, the toilet sandwiched in between the tub and the sink.

This bathroom was large enough to be the bedroom itself. It had to be at least three regular bathrooms put together. Straight ahead he saw a jacuzzi, he wondered silently how many people would fit in there.

To the right of that he saw frosted sliding doors that led to the shower. Not the cheap frosted doors that got stuck on the track and trapped you inside the shower. No, these were the pricey over the top doors.

The vanity had black marble counters, two separate sinks there. Underneath he found towels in the oak cabinets. He grabbed two and placed them on the towel rack beside the shower.

He watched himself unbutton his jacket in the over sized mirror. After he pulled it off, he held up the right sleeve to inspect the blood stain that was setting in. He wondered how much he would have to pay to have it dry cleaned. It also ran through his head that he would either have to threaten, or pay off the cleaner. Not too many people in the city had a royal purple formal jacket with a tail. It wouldn't take long before someone called the police. He shook his head in amusement, and hung the coat on the hook that was on the door.

Next he removed his leather gloves and stuck them in the outside pockets of the coat. Then he started undoing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt and vest. His hands felt stiff and did not want to cooperate. He looked down to see that his wrists were swollen from where the cuffs had been chaffing him. Briefly he fumbled with his belt and then untucked his shirt. Instead of leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor, he folded each item neatly and placed them on the counter. He smirked. Here he was being organized and tidy. Not something you would expect from a psychotic murderer. It was humorous. Maybe it was his drive for perfection, or maybe he had OCD, but he had always kept things coordinated. It was the same thing that made him stand in front of the mirror for thirty minutes applying his clown face. It had to be just right, had to have just the right amount of black around his eyes. He had to have the smile even on both sides, had to tint his eyebrows the same color as his hair. It had to be perfect to provoke the right reaction. His appearance was something he took great pride in, right down to his clothes. That was why he had spent months designing his own clothes, purchased and cut the fabric, sewed everything by hand. No one else could get it right. Not a damn designer could concoct the same vision that he had in his head.

Before the scars he had been told that he was very attractive. He used it along with his knowledge of human behavior to get whatever, or _whomever_ he wanted. Before he had purposely taken his time getting ready in the morning. Thirty minutes devoted to his hair, five minutes to removing any unsightly hair that may have grown over night, ten to straighten his tie. It was a morning ritual, mostly influenced by how much he liked to look at himself in the mirror. He had ended the ritual every morning with applying cologne. Just a small amount, just enough that a woman would have to be standing close to him to smell it. _Oh_, how those women used to make excuses to be in the same room with him, just to get a whiff of his cologne. _Can you help me reach something? I think I left my pen over here_. They had all melted whenever it came to him.

Then the scars happened. People still stared, but it was more the, _I can't stop looking because it's so disgusting_, look. First it had been looks of pity, when the stitches were still in. The scabs still showing on his cheeks, the flesh swollen and pink. Then they turned to looks of horror and disgust. People wouldn't even try to hide that they were looking when he walked down the streets. Heads turned, children pointed or cried. He had become a monster. He hated those people that had made him the monster, but even more he hated the spectators. Automatically he became a criminal or a bad person in their eyes. Surely no decent good man would deserve to be carved like a pumpkin. He could read the thoughts burning into him from their gaze. _Join the circus, freak._

That was where the idea for the clown had come from. People thought he was scary now? He would take something innocent, something most people found entertaining. Then he made it evil. He would entertain them alright. All the while keeping his cynical humor. He was now the clown prince of crime. And he loved it.

At first it was only an image in his head. Then it was only a _face_. One night he had stood in front of his mirror in that cramped apartment rubbing oily paint on his face that he had bought at the local corner store. Two nights after Halloween, it had all been on sale. He could remember the look on the clerks face as he brought the arm full of supplies to the counter. _Four kids at home, stocking up for next year_, he had said. It was not the first time he had lied. But it was possibly the first time that it thrilled him. He realized he could become whoever he wanted to be. After analyzing someone, he could become whatever he wanted that person to believe. He knew everyone's weakness, whether they were a sucker for the abusive father story. Or if he needed to be more graphic and pull the wife story. He knew exactly what to say to drive that stake of fear into their heart. Perhaps the one good thing that came from the scars was that he got to finely tune his talent with people. Without the looks he had to work harder, use the right tone, the right body language. But even with his manipulating techniques, he needed an image. Sometimes he didn't have time to do the convincing, and _fear_ was a good motivator.

So he had stayed up for hours that night in front of that dirty mirror. At first he tried the comic clown, frowned and then washed it away. He washed away a red nose, a tear drop. He experimented with all the colors. He stopped again, and washed the rosy cheeks away. He was down to four colors now. All the blue, purple, yellow, every color used up. He had white, black, red, and green. His face was the canvas. Getting an idea, he grabbed the tube of white and smeared it all over his face. Then he grabbed the black, smearing it in rings around his eyes. The seemed so sunk in, so _evil_. Then he took the red and painted a frown on his face. He stepped back to admire his handy work. Something wasn't quite right about it. He wet a washcloth and wiped the frown away. He picked up the red again and painted a _smile_ right over his scars. There was a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach, proud of his handiwork. He looked down at the counter, at the green paint. He smeared some across his eyebrows, adding a little bit more color to his face. His head tilted to the side, contemplating. Then he emptied the whole tube into his hands and starting rubbing it into his hair. It was perfect. _He_ was perfect.

Of course in the future he did not use paint in his hair, he had used temporary dye instead. But that night had been the beginning of something great. It was the night he had become _the Joker._

This night though, instead of in a dirty little apartment, the Joker was in the lap of luxury. For once he would be sleeping in a little palace. Something that the prince deserved.

The shower was much larger than he had expected. It was nice to stretch out instead of being confined to two or three steps in a normal tub. He could actually turn around without knocking things over. He starting fidgeting with the faucet, adjusting the temperature. It surprised him when water started raining down from more than one place. There were three faucets, one in the obvious place, one in the rear of the shower, and one in the middle of the longer wall. He stepped in with a smile on his face. This was nice. This eliminated the problem that he normally had. When his back was to the water, but the front of him was cold. Or vice versa.

The steam started to fill the shower, and he closed his eyes just enjoying the feeling of hot water cascading down his back. After leaving her room he had planned on taking a cold shower. But he was so exhausted that he hadn't stayed hard for very long. A smile spread across his lips, remembering those tight little shorts she had been wearing. His brows knitted in frustration. It bothered him that he had not gotten any reaction at all from her. Normally he was furious when someone pretended to be brave. But she wasn't pretending, or maybe she was. But his anger had been so easily diffused. He couldn't tell what was going through her head and it drove him wild. She was hiding behind a mask, much like he did. If she truly was like him, then she didn't fear him. Or anything else.

He could not decide if that was a good thing or not. He knew that he wanted to play with her, push her buttons, see if he could get her to break. But they could clash horribly if they were too alike. It could turn into a feud, both fighting for control and superiority. It might come down to having to kill her. That would be such a shame. He had always had a thing for girls with fight in them.

On the other hand, it would be something to have a woman like that as his ally. They could make quite a team. If she ever loosened up and wasn't such an_ ice_ princess.

_Enough with that._ He had never obsessed over a woman before, and he wasn't going to start now. Women had obsessed over _him_. The only time he had bothered to take the time to get to know a woman in the past, was when he wanted to get her panties off. Sure, he was going to get into her head, but he wasn't going to allow that to become his primary focus.

He opened his eyes, searching for some sort of soap. There were built in ledges in the shower wall, where several bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash were. He frowned, not a big fan of liquid soap. Then he saw a bar of soap on the bottom ledge. He grabbed it, lathered, and then started scrubbing away at his face. His pores started to unclog as the paint and blood trickled to the tiled floor. It felt good to feel the water on his bare skin. At his feet the paint swirled around the drain, a mixture of red, white, and black. It reminded him of kindergarten on water paint day. The cup of water that they had rinsed off their brushes in had turned the same gray color.

After he finished with his face, he started working on the rest of his body. Washing away all the grime and blood. It felt so refreshing. When he finished he replaced the bar of soap with a bottle of shampoo. It took two tries for the water to run clear instead of green. He stood in the shower soaking for several minutes. It had been quite some time since he had time to himself. He was enjoying it. The fatigue was nagging at him now, and he reluctantly turned the tap off.

The towel felt so soft against his skin. The tag said Egyptian cotton. He wondered how much it had cost. Where was she getting all of this money? She had said something about an important meeting. Maybe she was an attorney? _Nah_. No lawyer did _this_ well. Maybe a celebrity or a model. That seemed a possibility.

He flinched, rubbing the towel a little too roughly over the wound in his chest. His eyes drifted back over to the cabinets underneath the vanity. Behind those doors he searched for anything that could be used for first aid. He found peroxide, rubbing alcohol, medical tape, and gauze. It would do. He snatched them up and sat on the edge of the tub. First he poured the mixture of peroxide and alcohol over his ankles. The cable had rubbed his skin more raw than he had thought. Next he nitpicked at his minor cuts and abrasions. Then he moved on to his chest. He walked over to the mirror, trying to get a good look at it. The gash was about three inches across, and a little deep. Not deep enough to need stitches. So he poured the peroxide over it, it bubbled and fizzed fighting off the infection. It stung like a bitch.

It seemed forever that the peroxide bubbled white. When the fizzing finally subsided he wiped the moisture away and began making a makeshift bandage from the gauze and medical tape. He examined it in the mirror, grinning. Not his best, but not the worst. Much better than the time some schmuck had stabbed him in his side. He had wrapped gauze completely around his abdomen, looking like some makeshift mummy. Like he was auditioning for a B rated campy horror movie.

When he was satisfied, he grabbed his boxers up the pile on the counter. He stepped out of the bathroom, and flipped all the light switches off. Even through the darkness, he could make out the bed. That was where he headed.

The bed was more comfortable than he could ever have imagined. One of those tempur pedic he thought. Whatever the hell it was, it was doing wonders for his back. The pillows were feather down, it felt like he was laying on a cloud. As he shifted to find a comfortable position, the sheets rubbed against his skin, _silky smooth._ Contrary to what everyone seemed to think, he enjoyed his sleep. Though he didn't always have time for proper rest, he didn't stay awake for days on end either. He had overheard his employees discussing this once, he didn't bother to correct them. It helped keep them under check. His head began to feel heavy, and it was not long before he blacked out.

* * *

Every channel was the same. Breaking news coverage. No station was playing music as they normally would. Everyone was talking about the blunder that the PD had made with the Joker. Jim sighed and turned off the radio.

It was bad enough that he was going to be receiving phone calls about it for coming weeks about it. He knew the press would be outside of the precinct bright and early, ready to ask how the hell they failed this time. They wouldn't take into consideration that the Joker had moles everywhere, or that he seemed to know every move that they would make. No, they would blame the PD, just to have someone to point the finger at. So far his promotion to Commissioner was not going well. He was starting to look very bad to the public. Jim couldn't care less. What he cared about the most was putting that son of a bitch behind bars for good. In a real prison where he belonged. Everyone else seemed to believe that he belonged in Arkham, but Jim knew better. Joker wasn't insane...he was just really good at _pretending_ to be.

He knew exactly what the hell he was doing, and he knew that if he ever got caught that the doctors would send him the the Asylum. They would diagnose him as clinically insane and put him in a straight jacket. But that was where he would have wanted to be. In a padded cell with less security. Somehow he would manipulate someone to break him out. And the patients there, he knew how to string them along too! He'd have a whole army ready at his disposal. Not if Jim could do anything about it.

Vaguely he was aware of the dim green glow of the digital clock in his dash. It was close to five. He would be back to his office at 8:00. Not much time to sleep, but at least some. Barbara would be happy to see him at least. It would ease her mind for a few hours.

He rounded that familiar corner, and pulled into his driveway. He stretched upon exiting the car, feeling muscles burn throughout his back and legs. Ignoring them, he looked back to the lights of Gotham. _What the hell are we going to do without Batman? What am I going to do without Batman?_

As he expected, Barbara was up when he walked through the door. She flung herself around his neck, thankful that he was home. "I wish I could tell you not to worry. But I'm not even convincing myself."

She said nothing, instead leaning on his shoulder. For once, he did not know what to do or say to comfort her. He went through the motions any way, for her. His hands smoothed her hair, and rubbed her back. She pulled away and turned quickly. Jim thought he had seen tears there for a moment. Before he could acknowledge it, she pointed to the hall.

"He's asleep. Jim he's frightened by all of this. But he just doesn't understand. He keeps asking me why Batman just doesn't make all the bad guys go away. I don't know what to tell him." It was unspoken between the two that Jim had a much stronger connection with his son than his daughter. He couldn't explain why, he just felt closer to him. Barbara had always known, but never said anything. She had just taken it upon herself to give her attention to their daughter, while Jim had his father-son time.

Jim sighed and pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. He shook his head, "Let him believe in Batman Barbara. I know he won't understand until he's older, but for now we have to let him believe in a hero. If we didn't, it would break his spirit."

Barbara turned back to look at him, eyes bloodshot. "And what about Batman? Jim how is he supposed to go after that lunatic if you're chasing him too now?"

He flinched involuntarily. "You've been listening to the news haven't you?" She nodded. "I can't believe it. We had him. We had him Barbara! Then he just slipped through our fingers like he always does. I have no doubt in my mind that it's going to take more than just Gotham PD to bring him down. He's too smart to be caught by any normal means."

"So what about Batman?"

"I don't know Barbara. I don't even know how to contact him. And believe me, I would. I'd be telling him everything that we know. But all we can do for now is hope that he's out there watching and listening."

Jim felt helpless and he started grasping for a different subject. "So the boy is shaken, other than that he's okay?"

"He misses his dad, wants him stay home. I told him that it would be a while. I told him that Batman needed help catching the bad guy." Jim just nodded, and passed her as he walked into the hallway.

His door was cracked open, and he could see his head poking out from the covers. Jim sat on the edge of his bed, and stroked his son's hair. Barbara stood in the doorway watching.

"Jim, come to bed. I know it's not much sleep, but you need some rest. Tomorrow is going to be even bigger than today."

As he left the room, he took one glance behind him at his son. _God help us all._

* * *

He dreamt that night. The first time in a long time. He dreamed of pale hands caressing his face, running fingers through his hair. There was female kissing him gently, like a long time lover. Hair tickling his chest as it brushed his skin. Those hands ran over his chest. Vaguely he was aware that they were both naked. He looked up, to get a view of this paramour. Her face was obscured by shadows, and when he reached for her she disappeared.

He stood there in the darkness alone, then he heard laughing. Mocking laughter. Laughing at him. Those voices were so familiar, but he couldn't place them. The laughed all around him, giggling in his ears. The anger started to rise, he wanted to see his opponents. Not just hear them. There were muffled whispers, hushed at first but growing louder.

_"You like to joke don't you, a real joker."_

_"Aw, why so down? So young to be so sad. Let's put a smile on that face."_

The rest of the the night was the same. Old unwanted memories mocking him.

He felt warmth touch his eyelids, the sun shining through the bay windows. He awoke enraged, it was those memories that that reminded him of his plans for this world. Behind his lids, he saw orange and clenched his eyes tightly. When it became unbearable, he rolled over and pulled the comforter up over his head. But he never opened his eyes.

So it was dawn. How long had he slept? _Not long_. It had been close to four when he had gone to bed. Sunrise meant it was around seven. _Whoo_, a whole three hours. He groaned and stretched his cramped legs out. He was rewarded with a dull ache in his sore muscles. Well he felt the way he should feel after fighting Batman and hanging upside down from a building.

Somewhere outside of the room, he heard creaking. _She must be getting up_. There was more creaking as she walked across her room, followed by the sound of a tap turning on. The sound of the shower was muffled through the wall, but unmistakable. Morning wood started to set in as he imagined her stepping out of her clothes and into the shower. Her naked body, pale and beautiful. He felt a throbbing in his head, and it wasn't the headache kind of throbbing.

He momentarily thought about getting up and breaking into her bedroom. Surprising her in the shower. He had found out some time ago that sex in the shower was not only kinky and fun, but it was good too. That sounded like a great idea.

His hand reached up to scratch his nose, and he changed his mind. A sharp pain snaked up his chest where his make-shift bandage was at. Fuck that. No sex he had ever had was worth enduring white hot pain and nausea. He was quite resolved to continue sleeping. He could always play with her later.

He must have slept through her leaving, because when he woke again the clock next to the bed said _11:54_. It wasn't often that he got to sleep like this. He normally was up at odd hours of the night, planning. Then up most of the day, always on his toes. It's was part of the criminal lifestyle. The pain had subsided somewhat, but was still there. The first thing he was going to do was look for some drugs. If he was lucky she would have something like Vicodin laying around. He could do with eating five or six of those. Although he did not want to get up, he couldn't stay in bed all day.

Slowly, he forced himself to sit on the edge of the bed. Though he had slept fine, he felt like shit. It was like he had a hangover from hell. There was a faint grumble coming from his stomach and he chuckled._ Well that was normal_. And with that thought, he pushed himself off of the bed.

The carpet felt good on his bare feet, soft and comfortable. The tile in the bathroom, however, was cold as fuck. He flinched as he walked to the toilet. He noticed as he relieved himself, that his erection was gone. His clothes still sat folded on the edge of the counter. He glanced at them, debating in his head whether he wanted to put them on or not. He opted not to. He did however grab a knife from his coat. Because _hey_, you never know.

The living room looked even more impressive in the light. It looked even more grand than the Wayne penthouse. A smile spread across his lips as he remembered crashing the party for Dent. He had thought that his penthouse had been ritzy, but this was better. She had filled her home with priceless artifacts, in a word, _art_. Wayne had just bought things because they had a big price tag on them, she had deliberately taken her time selecting her decor.

In the corner he saw a grand piano that he had not noticed the night before. Briefly he wondered if it was for show, or if she knew how to play. He studied the paintings on the wall, and the assortment of furnishings. He hoped to get into her head, you could tell a lot about a person by what they fill their home with. Since his estimate last night had been completely off, he started anew. The only thing that he deduced, was that she appreciated art and music. Had he not had his encounter with her last night, he would have decided that whoever lived here led a boring life. It didn't fit. As dark as she was, she had to be anything but boring. Perhaps if he knew her better he would have thought this was all just a ruse. As if to deceive everyone._ Damn this girl was a headache._

He gave up on the living room and headed to the kitchen. He began ripping through cabinets, looking for something to take the pain away. The only thing she had was Tylenol. He sighed and shook his head in dismay. Really, he had hoped that she was more fun than that. Then again, he had not been through the whole penthouse yet. Perhaps she wasn't stupid enough to hide the good stuff within plain sight. As he shrugged, he poured several pills into his hand. Probably about 15 more than the recommended dose. But when you use as much as he had, it took more to do anything at all. He started shoving the pills into his mouth while he raided the fridge. There was a half gallon of orange juice, he grabbed that and drank directly out of the carton. After emptying it, he left the empty carton on the counter. He certainly was making himself at home. He stood there in front of the open fridge door, a chill climbing up his legs. He shuddered as goosebumps appeared on his legs. There was not much in the fridge. A half gallon of milk, mustard, and leftover pizza. He opened the box and stole a piece. It helped quell the hunger in his stomach. Nothing quite like cold pizza.

In the back of his mind he knew he should be taking care of business. He should be calling Eddy, telling him that he was safe. Finding out what the police were doing, where they were at. Though he couldn't care less, he needed to know how many of his men had been caught. How many new ones he needed to recruit. Eddy, he hated to admit, was as close to second in command as the Joker could find. He wasn't the smartest, but he helped keep the men in line. His previous job had been as a psycho analyst. Although he was not as good with them as the Joker, he seemed to be able to deal with them with some ease. That was the only reason that he had been kept around. It was hard to find anyone besides himself that those nuts trusted. If it wasn't for that, he would have killed Eddy a long time ago. Damn son of a bitch was in it for the money, wanted to be on the Joker's good side. He _loathed_ Eddy.

If only Viktor had stayed around. _Viktor_ had never pretended to understand him, but had always respected him. The closest thing he had ever had to a friend. Money meant nothing to Viktor, he was in it because of the vision that the Joker had. The Scandinavian had never asked any questions, he just did. He may very well be the only man that had worked for Joker in the past that was still alive. A family emergency had pulled Viktor away weeks before Joker had come to Gotham. A shame. Eddy made a poor substitute.

He found himself in the hallway again, standing outside of a room that he had not been in yet. He tilted his head to the side, debating on whether or not he would find anything interesting in there. He should call Eddy now. Fuck it. How long had it been since he had a day off? With the police running around like chickens with their heads cut off, it would be best to lay low anyway. Eddy would understand.

He could spend the next few days messing with the inhabitant of the penthouse. Maybe he would get a little action. Maybe if he pushed enough. He was itching to get into her mind. See what made her tick. She was a jigsaw with missing pieces to him. He was going to find those pieces and put her together. At least until then he wouldn't be bored. Hopefully sooner than later, it did bother him a little that he was this distracted. Then it would go back to normal. She would no longer be a challenge, bore him. Then he would throw her away, just like his men that served their purpose. It would be an interesting ride though.

He made up his mind to go into the room, searching for something to help crack this case. The light came on, and he grinned wide. _Jackpot._

It was like a miniature museum, complete with a maze of glass case exhibits atop the Mahogany tables. He stepped into the room, admiring it. It was quite a collection. Clothing, artifacts, souvenirs, money, jewelry. A little bit of everything. He began at the case closest to the door, peering inside.

There was a small plaque attached to the bottom right of the case. _Egypt._ Inside there was a ceramic jar, the lid was the shape of a dog head. He recognized it as Anubis. There was also a small statuette of a feline, and a necklace that seemed to have a pendant of a scarab attached. These artifacts must have cost a fortune. Then again money seemed to be no option for her.

The next case said _Spain_. Here there were gold coins and a large hand woven blanket.

The rest of the cases were the same. Porcelain dolls from Russia. Berets and diamond jewelry from France. Exhibits from all around the world, like souvenirs. It all seemed so _personal_. It was a treasure trove of information. He was learning about her personal tastes, her_ life_. She did lots of traveling. He doubted it was for business. From the look of this room, it was either because she was running from her past. Or she was bored and needed some sort of adventure. Life in itself wasn't enough, she needed more to feel alive. He was finding more and more similarities between them.

So what _in the hell_ was she doing in Gotham?

It was one case in particular that caught his eye. It was in the back of the room, close to the windows. There was no label on this one and the items in here seemed to be random. An old revolver, a silk handkerchief, empty wine bottle, and a one hundred dollar bill. He couldn't piece this one together. Maybe they were antiques...but they just didn't seem to fit in with all of this.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the front door open. Quickly he darted out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him. He looked around, thinking how best to catch her off guard. There was the sound of footsteps heading towards the room that he had been staying in, and he flipped open his knife.

As he expected, he saw dark hair as she rounded the corner. If she saw him, she didn't acknowledge him. Instead she stopped at the guest bedroom door, and raised her hand to push the door open.

His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline rushing. He wanted to scare her, just a little. Shake her up a little bit. Just to hear her scream from surprise, that would be enough for him. Anything except her detached demeanor from the night before. The grin spread across his face as he tiptoed up behind her.

As she was about to open the door, he pounced. One arm snaked around her waist, the other around her neck. The knife resting on the sensitive skin on her throat. She did not jump, or flinch, or scream, or _anything_. She remained as calm as she had last night. Just standing there. Not relaxed, maybe uncomfortable. But she just stood there. He frowned and made a noise in his throat, slightly irritated.

"I thought you were gone. Was going to make your bed." Behind her head, he raised his eyebrow. _So casual._

"Are you afraid of anything? Seriously, any other schmuck would be begging for their life right about now." He felt her body shift as she shrugged. "Not you though. _No_. You sure are a _weird_ one."

He heard a smirk escape her lips. It seemed that she was just as amused as he was. "Tell me if dying doesn't scare you. What does? Everyone has a deep dark fear hidden somewhere. Except me of course."

Her head tilted ever so slightly, trying to look up at his face. Their lips so close together. At that moment he realized that he was still standing there in his boxers. For a fraction of a second, he thought about kissing her instead of interrogating her. That would certainly mess with her mind. Send her some mixed signals. A nice thought, but pleasure came second. Figuring her out came first. Something told him that she could be useful.

"Any fears? Hmmm." She took a deep breath, seemingly pondering the question. It was theatrics, putting on a show for him. Entertaining herself as well as him. "Once when I was a girl, I was afraid of the dark. But that was a very very long time ago. So the answer to your question, would be no I suppose."

He laughed at loud. She seemed to be telling the truth as far as he could tell. It would seem that they had more in common than he thought. "I would say if you were afraid of the dark, Gotham would not be the place to live."

"I agree." She turned away from him again, staring straight ahead. Strands of black hair fell into her face. There was a faint scent of roses coming from her hair, it was a little intoxicating. "Your hair...is very pretty."

For the first time she seemed surprised. "You're holding a knife to my throat, threatening my life. Then you compliment me? You make for one confusing criminal." He laughed again, jerking his wrist a little too hard. The knife slid across the skin quickly. Just a scratch. Still she did not flinch, even through the pain. He watched as a thin line appeared on her neck, the blood slowly running down her throat. It was as if she hadn't felt it at all. What was it that he had read a few months ago? A condition where some people did not feel pain. That seemed a possibility. That would explain the fearlessness. Using his thumb, he wiped the blood away, smearing it a little.

"That didn't hurt?"

She shook her head. "Nah. More like a pinprick. I've been through worse."

He felt a rush in his head. A bit of information. Although he could not decide if she had deliberately put that out there, or she had just slipped. He did not want to believe that latter. She seemed so much more intelligent, and unique for that. He almost wanted for her to be just like him. Perhaps he would have someone to relate to amongst the morons of Gotham.

"Is that what you're going to do every time you compliment me? Say something nice, then cut me?" He had to admire her sense of humor. So much sarcasm, he was liking her more and more.

"Aw. Now why would a nice guy like me do something like that?"

"I don't know. Possibly for the same reason that you have a knife to my throat." It could not be helped. He removed the knife, and slapped his knee, doubling over in laughter.

"I like you. So keen and to the point. I think I might keep you around a little longer." As the laughter subsided, he placed his hands on her shoulders. Then he twirled her around to face him. One hand fingered a strand of hair. It felt soft between his fingers. He decided to try a different tactic, and try the smooth guy approach. "It really is very pretty. _Black_.." He paused, tucking the hair behind her ear. "Is definitely your color."

Her face was blank. Still unreadable to him. Obviously not the trusting type. "It's not my natural color," she replied.

"Oh?" His tongue left his mouth momentarily, licking his lips. It had been a habit since the scars. The skin felt so weird, and he could not help but to keep probing it with his tongue. Now he wished that it would stop. It made him appear nervous, crazy. Something he was not.

A coy smile appeared on her lips. It surprised him a bit, but it lit up her face even more. "No. I'm a natural blonde."

The image immediately infiltrated his mind. It was hard to picture, but he managed. Golden locks flowing down her back. Emerald eyes looking up at him. So innocent looking. So deceiving.

"So you're telling me the carpet doesn't match the drapes?" The question had been as personal as possible. He was trying to get a rise out of her. Make her angry, insulted. Disgusted, something! Not surprisingly, there was no reaction, she did not shy away from him.

She just looked him in the eyes and said, "I guess so."

His tongue clicked and he shook his head. "What a pity. Natural is the way to go." He stood there with his hands on his hips, wishing she would just squirm a little. "Sweetheart, are you sure you're even human?"

"Sometimes I wonder."

"I've only known you for less than a day and I'm already wondering too doll. This is normally the part where the hostage is praying to God, begging for mercy." He stared into her eyes, those ocean green eyes. So mesmerizing, yet so devoid of emotion. Certainly not normal this one. It made him want to get in her head all the more.

"So I'm a hostage now?"

He grinned. "You could be. I think you'd make for an...uh interesting one." His eyes trailed up and down her hourglass figure. A white blouse, black skirt, and high heels. Business attire. It abolished his thought of her being a celebrity or model. _Bor-ring_. He preferred the cami and shorts. "I think however, that it would be pointless. Hostages are only fun if they are terrified and shaking in fear."

"Would it make you feel better if I pretended to be scared shitless?"

"No, no, no. I don't like it when women fake it. I am all about the real deal sweetheart. I'm just too fucking good at what I do to not notice when someone is faking. You and I...we know that you've got fight in you." He shoved her shoulder playfully. "Sweetheart, you won't have to be faking with me." Though he knew she would not respond, he couldn't help but throw the sexual innuendos out there. It was too hard not too. "But dear, don't think I'm leaving you alone until I figure out what is going through that pretty little head of yours. You'll be seeing a lot of me, I think."

Although her face did not falter, she did roll her eyes. Annoyed with him. "I'm glad that you've invited yourself into my life. So like the typical guy. Pushing yourself onto a woman only thinking of your own interests. Tell me, are you one of those men that doesn't have enough blood to think with both heads at the same time? Do you let your dick make decisions for you?"

His eye twitched, becoming enraged. She had gone too far and pressed one too many buttons. He threw her against the wall, arm pressed tightly against her throat. Just enough pressure to make it hard for her to breath, he didn't want her to pass out. Not for this. In his other hand, the knife was back, ready to teach her a lesson. He held it just above her right cheek.

There was no struggle. Instead she locked eyes with him, refusing to submit and back down. So bull headed. Perhaps she was a little too much like him. Minus the rack.

He looked away from her eyes for a moment, gazing down to her chest. Then he looked back to her eyes, cutting the top of her blouse open. The knife snapping through the loops that the buttons went through. From his peripheral, he saw a black lace bra. The top of her breasts exposed. His gaze did not falter from hers, and he trailed the tip of the blade across one of her breasts.

The knife pressed down just hard enough to draw a pinprick of blood. Though he wanted to do more, draw a neat little line there, he didn't. She wouldn't have reacted anyway. And he didn't want to ruin them. They were just too perfect they way they were. He stopped and took her face in his hand. "Let me make one thing very clear to you doll, I make my own damn decisions. You may see a typical man, and yes sweetheart, I have my urges and needs. I need to fuck just like every human being alive. But don't you ever forget, that there is not a single person out there that is anything like me. Don't you ever assume anything different."

Something happened then. She reacted, not physically or verbally. But he saw something in her eyes. Not fear or anger. No. Much better. He saw _curiosity_. She wanted more, to understand him in a way that no one else cared to. And she wasn't hiding it. In that she was no different than anyone else. But this was not from disgusted interest or fear. Just genuine curiosity. She had told him that she was fascinated by the unknown. To her, he was as discovering America was to Columbus. Her _Holy Grail_.

And strangely, he found himself wanting to help her understand. Though the fury still pulsed through him, and he wasn't far off from being put over the edge, he started to wonder what it would be like if someone did understand him. Not that it would change anything, but what would it be like if someone truly got him? Not those psycho analysts that had classified him, labeled him with disorders. Those stiff old biddies or egocentric fossils that thought they could pinpoint when his life went wrong. Like they could just pick a date out of his time line and say, here's when you became fucked up. Those self righteous doctors that decided that throwing medicine at him would make him normal. What had they called him? _Sociopath, narcissist._ They were just words to him. No meaning. That was then he started having fun with them. Portraying whatever he wanted, throwing their diagnoses off. He could come off as sane or insane. Whatever he wanted them to believe.

There wasn't anything wrong with him. There was something wrong with them. Spending their lives scurrying around like ants, taking direction from the queen. Going through the motions, oblivious to the fact that they were all being controlled. Do what the law says, even if it was seen as immoral or wrong. As long as the government says its okay, its okay. Ever so slowly, humanity was letting itself be taken over. Tracking devices in babies. How long ago would that have seemed blasphemous? Calls monitored, invasion of privacy, like inmates at a prison. All for the greater good right? As long as the head honcho was happy, who cares if they lost their freedom and rights?

Peons and weaklings compared to him. He knew what was going on, and he was resisting. The world was his playground, and no one would ever subdue him. That's what he was here to prove in Gotham. Everyone's lives...they were a lie. And he was going to prove it, bring the government down. Slowly chipping away until it crumbled. Until the people would rise against them. What if she possibly could understand what it was truly was that motivated him.

He would oblige her, bring her into his world. Gradually over time. If anyone could get him, it would be her. Something about her was just so different. She was thinking outside of the box. Just like him. Maybe, just maybe she could see the big picture. Maybe, just maybe she could replace Eddy. Become the new Viktor.

The knife traced over her cheek. The same position of his scars. "Such a pretty little mouth. Be such a shame if something happened to it. You know I was attractive once." He smiled wide for her. "Wanna know how I got these scars?"

He was surprised when she declined. "I don't really like stories that start at the end."

"What," he asked sardonically.

"Getting your scars would be the end of the story. Before that comes your name, your childhood, growing up. I don't think you're quite ready to give a name yet. So I wouldn't bother with it until you are ready to start at the beginning."

He stood there, mouth open. That was an answer he had never received before. That's what he meant. _Different,_ thinking outside of the box. Again his curiosity was beginning to subdue his anger. He was impressed. "Fine you win." He removed his weight from her, giving her space.

Then he changed the subject. "So doll, how long have you lived in Gotham?"

"Five years." _Five years_. So she had recently moved here. He wondered what the hell a pretty girl like her was doing in a city like this. This city of scoundrels and criminals. It was a little off. The fact that she was still here, newcomers typically only lasted a few months. Then they were gone, back to their placid lives, too terrified of Gotham and it's occupants.

He scoffed at her. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I was born here." Nice little tidbit of information there. He would have to remember that when he was snooping around. That was just what he did. Piece together every bit of information he could get, have some dirt on them. Know their moves before they did.

"Again what the hell are you doing here? Most people I've met from here can't wait to get out." She tilted her head, seemingly debating her answer.

"That nephew I told you about? I'm keeping an eye on him. Let's just say I've not been the best aunt." She was so forthcoming with the information. He was a little disappointed, he had thought it would be a little bit harder than this. Surely she wasn't stupid enough to trust him yet.

"And how old is your nephew?" Yes he was disappointed, but this was what he did. Even though he had taken a liking to her, it could come in handy one day having some dirt on her. Something to use against her.

She raised her eyebrow, signifying the end of the interrogation. "I think that's something that can wait for another day. Seeing as who I'm talking to, I think you'll understand." His stomach felt warm. He found it odd that he was so happy that she had caught on. Then again, maybe she knew the whole time. She was only giving him vague descriptions, purposely giving him little to work with.

"Fine, fine. Alright then." He decided to change the topic. "Any _men_ in your life that I should know about? Anyone that I would have to avoid when I visit?"

"No," she said. Now that shocked him. This pretty little thing single? Maybe she was callous , or maybe it was the lack of personality. Then again with most guys it wasn't about the personality. It was about the sex. So that made her unattainable. That was what really sealed the deal. He was going to be the one to charm the pants off of her, figuratively of course. Melt the ice princess. "If you are going to keep breaking into my house, then you can follow my rules. And you're already breaking one."

He laughed. "Well then. What are the rules sweetie?"

"If you smoke, do it on the balcony." She gestured to the living room, where earlier he had seen french doors. "Don't leave shit laying around. And..." She stopped to examine him. "And we wear_ clothes_ in this house."

He looked down and realized that he was still wearing nothing but his boxers.

_God, this was going to be fun._

* * *

Columbus is the man that is taught in American schools as the man who discovered America.

The Holy Grail is a sacred artifact in Christian religion, that is most often depicted as the cup that Jesus drank from at the Last Supper. It's said to hold miraculous powers, and many have searched for it to no avail.

As you can tell in this incarnation, Joker was physically normal at one point of time. He did not have his scars as a child. _  
_

Eddy and Viktor are both OC's. You will see how fondly he thinks of Viktor, this is important later. He also loathes Eddy, which will become more and more apparent over time. His subconscious is looking for a partner more like Viktor, and while he is identifying with "mystery woman", he's also finding that she's similar to his previous partner.

Our female protagonist in this is an already established character, but you won't find out who it us for a little bit longer. Remember that this is coming from Joker's point of view, so until he finds out everyone is in the dark. :)

**MV**: Is this a fast enough update for you? :)


	4. Don't Test Me

_Okay, so this chapter is a little bit shorter than normal. I had a little bit of writers block here. Although I do have the story mapped out, there are holes that need filling. I have so much more planned for later, but it didn't seem right to put any of that in so early in the story. I am thinking sometime in the next few chapters I'll reveal the identity of our mystery woman. For now we have some of good old Joker's charm and violence. As always reviews are greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading!_

**_The best way to prepare for life is to begin to live._**

_Do I look really look like a guy with a plan?_

* * *

Someone had once said that your mood was a reflection of the weather. In this case, that person would have been correct. Gray foreboding clouds loomed over the city, threatening to release it's load at any moment. Thunder shaking buildings and lightening flashing across the sky. The wind was unusually tormenting today, beating branches against the window. The weatherman had said that the cold front would pass in a day or two. Storms forecast for the rest of the day. Severe thunderstorm watch.

On the television, the green, red, and yellow moved across the screen. Simulating how the storm would move and grow. Then it started over again.

In short, it was a depressing and dismal day. The melancholy had reached the citizens of the city. A hefty amount of the population had fled the city, those that hadn't were boarded up in their homes. The elderly and the young filled with dread. Then there was the rest of them, scared yes. But that was part of living in Gotham. Some of them figured if they had put up with it this long, they would just wait it out. Go on with their lives, just keep their fingers crossed trouble didn't find them.

Quite a few shops were closed for the week. The owners afraid to be robbed.

School was canceled until further notice. The superintendent afraid of a terrorist attack on one of the schools. Apparently the mayor had been thinking along the same lines, because he had been the one to hold the press conference. Personally announcing it to the public.

There were many reports of people calling in sick all of a sudden. Influenza of terror. That's what the press had called it.

In fact it seemed that the only people that were out doing their jobs were the reporters. Even they seemed to doing that only half-heartily. Really could they be blamed after the Mike Engel incident?

That had not kept them from pestering the PD and city hall. Standing outside in the cold before anyone else had bothered to roll out of bed. Waiting there in their suits, not even a hair out of place. Ready to tear them all a new asshole.

"What does Gotham PD have to say for Joker's escape last night?"

"Was it an inside job?"

"What is the PD going to do to ensure the protection of Gotham's citizens?"

"Do you think the federal government should step in and help?"

Jim had ignored it all, shoving past the mob and up the stairs to the precinct. Had it not been for the officers standing outside at the doors, barring entrance to anyone that wasn't on the force, Gordon was sure that the press would be in his office. Anything to get the story. Even if it meant disrupting their jobs, making it harder to catch him.

He sat at his desk now, rubbing his temples. His headache was beginning to pulse behind his eyes, stress wearing him down. His eyes felt dry from the lack of sleep, and he had to keep rubbing them. He was sure he looked terrible. The coffee had not been much help. He had taken it straight black, four cups. It was not much of an improvement, and it tasted like dirty dishwater.

As he had predicted, the phone had never stopped ringing. Most of them citizens reporting sitings of the Joker. He had sent out officers to check out each tip, though he did not think it would do them much good. Most people were just paranoid, seeing the slightest bit of purple and green. They panicked, believing it was the wanted fugitive. The other small percent was probably more of the fake Jokers. It did not seem likely to Jim that he would be stupid enough to let himself be seen. He imagined he would lay low for a while. At least until some of the fire settled.

He had hoped against hopes that Batman would have been one of those callers. Telling Gordon how they could meet and discuss tactics. How the hell they were going to bring the Joker and his reign to an end. Obviously it did not happen.

So Jim had been at his desk all morning, taking calls, taking notes. Dispatching teams to investigate. Perhaps if this had been any normal criminal, he would have files in front of him. Sifting through his previous jobs, previous heists, looking for a pattern. However, that was not the case. He seemed to pick his victims at random. Well, somewhat. Joker was an anarchist, and made it clear that he hated the government. However, all of the jobs were impersonal. Not one person had any type of connection to him. It was as if the ground opened up and he just crawled up from Hell.

It was because he wasn't pulling those files, that he was able to start working on his list. Though he had not gotten far with the continuous phone answering. Just a few questions. _**1**. Are you in any way affiliated with the Joker? **2**. Do you know anyone that is affiliated with the Joker? **3**. Have you recently or ever fantasized about breaking the law in anyway?_

It seemed ridiculous that he was doing this. He had always thought that law enforcement stood for something. If only his views were shared by the rest of this city.

If only there really were good people still left. Goodwill of some sort. It had to be out there. He refused to believe otherwise.

Surely God would not have let the whole world turn inward on itself.

The sound of rain beating the roof reached his ears from inside of the bathroom. It was rhythmical and soothing. It was broken only by the sound of the low rumbling in the distance.

* * *

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to hear about my scars," he called out to her.

"Not until you start at the beginning," her voice was low and sultry, standing behind him in the doorway. He found it funny that he had yelled, not realizing that she had been right behind him. That and her lack of modesty. It seemingly did not bother her that here he was, a stranger, a criminal even, just standing in his underwear in her home. In fact, she had not really tried to cover herself up last night either, he realized. Before he had actually met her, he might have thought whore. But again the stereotypes didn't fit.

She watched him as he gathered his clothes up. Moments before she had told him to put clothes on, he had told her that he did not have any clean clothes. Then she had offered to wash them. So he had gone to retrieve them. It did go through his mind that this was abnormal. Though she was studying him as she had put it, no person in their right mind would be offering to help out a fugitive. She was _weird_...in a good kind of way if that was possible. At least to him it was good. It meant staying out of a jail cell.

Knife, after knife, he placed on the counter, removing the contents of his pockets. The girl just waited patiently, analyzing him. He pulled a deck of cards out, that only consisted of Jokers. His business cards. Through all of this, she acted as if this was a normal every day thing for her. She did arch an eyebrow when he pulled one single grenade out.

He smiled. "In case I need to negotiate. Can't be too careful these days. You never know who you might run in to."

"You mean someone like you?" He only chuckled in response.

Taking all of his clothes up, he walked over to her and deposited the load into her arms. "Tell me doll, who are you going to get to dry clean all of this without turning some heads?"

"I know a few people who owe me some favors." She smiled at him, a playful expression on her face. It would seem that after he had slammed her into the wall, things had changed. He had warned her not to think of him as normal. That no one was like him. It may not have been from fear or caution. But something had changed. Her mask had not dropped fully, but she was letting him in a little. Letting him see some emotion, some semblance of a person. Albeit, she was still odd for a person. Her tone had not ever changed, steady as ever. The only thing he could tell at this time was that she was being sincere with him this whole time. For some reason or another, she held some sort of respect for him. She was as big of an enigma to him, as he was to her.

He followed her back to the living room, where she placed his clothes on a table next to the door. "When I leave later, I'll take them with me. I'll pick them up on the way home tonight."

His head cocked to the side, tongue licking the scar tissue on the side of his cheek. "I don't know of many cleaners that are open after dark."

"I do," she replied. Her heels clicked on the floor as she entered the kitchen. "Money buys a lot of things." Wasn't that the truth. It sure as hell motivated all the scumbag criminals of Gotham. It bought him his weapons, and the loyalty of the men that were working for him. So ridiculous that green paper was all that it took to sway a person's mind.

He followed her again, like a puppy. Her slender hand reached up to open the cabinet, she paused at the sight of the empty orange juice carton. "Thirsty?" He put his hands up, as if to say you caught me. She shook her head, continuing to get herself a glass of water. She turned to look at him after taking a sip of the water. "So," she started. "Why were you running from the police this time?"

Amazement filled him. "You don't know?" Her head shook no. "I thought you said you watched the news!"

"Not all the time," she confessed. He put his head back, stretching the muscles in his neck.

"Well, I'm sure it's still all over every channel now. Maybe you should catch up on it?"

"Later." The glass clinked when it came in contact with the metal sink. Her shoulder brushed his, as once again she was entering the living room. He forced himself not to flinch, the pain stabbing through his chest momentarily. He closed his eyes and drew a shaky breath.

She was kicking her heels off and rubbing her feet. "I hate those things." A laugh escaped both of their lips. He had always imagined high heels were for strippers of for stuck up brats. She was neither. Everything about her life was so off as far as he could tell. It made it very hard to get into her head.

He decided again to pry a little more. "So sweetheart, you got one of those...you know? _Names_?" She looked up at him, blouse still torn. The tops of her breasts still exposed to him. His eyes rested there, ignoring her face entirely.

"After you." Her voice had fallen flat, noticing where he attention was devoted to. He pulled his eyes away, forcing himself to look her in the eyes. A little defiance there. That fight that he liked. Smart girl. But that wouldn't keep him from finding out eventually.

"Don't you know? I don't _have_ one." His chuckle filled the room.

"Then what should I call you? I think the Joker is just a little too formal. Just throw a name out, or I'll pick one." She rubbed her chin, pretending to pick a name. "How about _Fred_?"

His face made a sour expression. "Uh..no." He in turn mocked her, rubbing his chin too. "Some of my men call me Mr. J."

"Mr. J.?" It rolled off of her tongue so nicely.

"Yes. I think that would do nicely. And you sweetheart?"

He did not recognize the expression on her face. Amusement possibly. "Some of my employees call me boss."

He scoffed. "I am not calling you that. Try again doll."

She shook her head. "Mr. J. isn't your real name. So I think it's only fair that you don't get my real name."

He nodded and chuckled. "Fine, fine. If that's how you want it. You know I'll find out eventually."

She sat on the edge of a leather couch, looking up at him. "That may be. But considering that you're not exactly the trustworthy type, I think I'll refrain from being the one to tell you. Wouldn't want to make it too easy now."

He clapped suddenly. "Oh bravo. You are very good at this game."

There was a slight smile on her lips. "What game would that be?"

"These mind games. Look at us here. Caught in a battle of wits. Like two skilled chess players. Each moving their pawns slowly and meticulously." His head tilted, looking into her eyes. The smile on his face almost evil. He licked his lips. "So far we seem to be at a _stalemate_. But dear it's only a matter of time before one of us puts the other in check."

He took a step towards her, and kneeled in front of her. They were eye level now. His hand reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "You my dear, you would have to be the queen. One of the most important pieces on the board." A harsh laugh echoed in the room. "Perhaps I should call you your highness? Hmm?"

She made a sour face. "Well I see that you don't like that name. So I guess I'll just have to keep calling you doll, for now." Her green eyes simply watched him, unreadable.

"So if I'm the queen, what does that make you?"

He smirked and jumped up, excitedly. "That my dear, that is a tough question to answer!" His hands flew up into the air theatrically. "The obvious answer would be the King, but that would be too easy. Too cliche, you the queen. Me the King. No, _no_, no." Her eyes followed him as he paced the room. "So what does that leave?"

He bounced over to her, pulling her from the couch. If she was uncomfortable, she kept quiet while he pretended to waltz with her around the room. He halted suddenly, coming to stand inches away from her. "I could be a Knight. But I believe that piece has been taken by the _Batman_." More laughter filled the room. "Gotham's knight in shining armor."

His hands clapped together again, and he turned away from her. "It is a shame that there is no Jester on the board. No place for a clown on the battlefield I suppose. So let's call me...the _Bishop_."

"The Bishop? I think I prefer Mr. J." He found his lips turning upwards into a grin. She preferred Mr. J. He thought of it as almost possessive. For the time being, he certainly didn't mind. "Well Mr. J. I think I am going to go change now. Seeing as how you ripped my shirt open, I don't really find that appropriate for being in public, do you?"

His grin never left his face. "That would depend on what we were doing."

She rolled her eyes and left the room. There was the sound of a door opening and closing. Becoming suddenly bored, he sat down on the couch. It felt plush and he sank into the cushions. His eyes closed, his fight with Batman replaying in his head.

His eyes snapped open as the door opened again. He whistled as she entered the room. Her clothes might as well been painted on, they were so tight. "Are you going to a dry cleaners or to stand on a corner?"

She did not answer, instead flipping him off. "Any time doll. A man like me will take all the action he can get." She sighed at him. Then she went to grab his clothes.

Something nagged him in the back of his mind. "Tell me...there wasn't _any_ car in the parking lot right?" She nodded.

"It's in the shop."

"So..._how_, exactly are you going to run these errands?" His head was tilted to the side. She regarded the question with little interest.

"There is a limo waiting outside. I told you, money buys a lot of things."

"It would seem so."

"Don't wait up." With that, she left him alone in her home. He felt... bizarre. No one had trusted him alone in their house since the scars. Here he was the most wanted man in Gotham, possibly the state. And she just left him alone here. _Twice_. He wondered what it was that she was out doing. What was so important that she had to leave a criminal in her home like some normal guest. It passed through his mind to follow her. Then again, a man running around half naked would stick out like a sore thumb.

He walked over to the windows, and watched as the black limo pulled away from the curb. He thought about calling Eddy again. He realized however that he was in no mood to talk to him. That prick always found a way to irritate him. Right now, he was in a rare good mood. He intended to stay that while, at least for the rest of the day.

There was not much to do while he waited. Except for raiding the cabinets searching for food. He did find a bottle of wine. A very aged bottle, with a smooth taste. It was now half full, sitting on the table beside him. After his ten minute romp in the kitchen, there was little else to do. He had searched through the penthouse, looking for some sort of info on his hostess. There was nothing. No I.D. of any kind, no birth certificate, high school diploma._ Zilch._ Not even an old Christmas card. Poof! She just appeared out of thin air. Like a ghost.

Although that wasn't the case. Joker certainly did not believe in ghosts.

Still, he was without an explanation as to why she would go to all this trouble to hide her identity. It was almost as if she had done so on purpose. If that was the case, he was impressed. Another link between the two. Truly she was a very dizzying person.

He spent a few minutes hitting keys on the piano. He soon tired of that, not knowing how to play. The random notes sounded sour to him. He had frowned and returned to the couch.

When he woke up, she was standing over him with a hand on her hip. _When had he fallen asleep?_ Damn, he must have been more bored than he thought. "Have a good nap?" He only nodded. The buzz of the television reached his ears. Did he fall asleep with it on? _No_, he had turned it off and then passed out.

He looked past her to the headlines scrolling across the screen. It was as he imagined, most of the blaming the PD. It was amusing. He heard something about ferries not blowing up. He glanced up to her, "Can't depend on anyone anymore."

She shook her head. "Have you heard the rest of the story?"

"What do you mean the rest of the story?"

She was about to answer, then turned to the television. Using the remote, she turned the volume up. A female reporter was talking into the microphone, the sun obviously shining into her eyes. _Sun_...that meant that this was old news being replayed. She was standing at the edge of the bay with one of the ferry captains.

"So Captain, you're telling us that it was one of the prisoners who threw the detonator out of the window?"

The middle aged man nodded. "Yes ma'am. And I just wanted to say to that sick monster that you think we're all like you? Think again. Even a prisoner found guilty of murder has more humanity than you."

She muted the t.v. again. He stared ahead a look of utter shock on his face. "Well, isn't that something?"

She shrugged. "I suppose. So, you got so bored, that you fell asleep?" He did not miss the change of subject. She had done it on purpose. He obliged her this once.

As he searched her face for emotion, he realized that she was shut off to him. Expressionless once again. It was maddening to him. And here he thought that he had been getting somewhere. He smiled sheepishly at her. "Alcohol tends to put some people to sleep." He gestured at the half empty bottle of wine. She frowned.

"That was a $700 bottle of wine."

_Jesus. $700?_ That was ridiculous to him. "Seven hundred? What in the hell would you need a bottle of wine that cost $700 for?"

"Important company."

He smiled. "I'm important company."

"No. You're _unwanted_ company."

His eyes narrowed. "Low blow doll."

"You're the one who broke into my home remember?" She dropped a garment bag in his lap. "Maybe now that you have clean clothes, you'll leave." She turned to walk away, and he lashed out and grabbed her wrist. She fell onto the couch beside him.

"Now is that any way to treat a guest?" He dug his nails into her wrists, and was disappointed when she did not squeal. It made him angry. "I think you forget _who_ you are talking to." It went through his mind that perhaps this was the wrong approach. He ignored it, and twisted her arm behind her back. Her eyes stared into his own, defiantly. Danger flashed through her eyes, catching him off guard. It would appear that he had succeeded in pissing her off. It excited him, and he felt the need to push her further. He was finally getting a rise out of her, and ready to have fun. "Do I need to remind you _who_ I am?"

He buried his face in her hair, nuzzling the side of her neck. He was only trying to get a reaction from her, but still managed to get a whiff of her perfume. There was the hint of vanilla and mint there. It was pleasant, and reminded him that he hadn't been laid in months. "You smell good." Still, she did not answer him. He wondered if she would speak if he tried to force himself onto her. Maybe it was time to have his way with her. Maybe then she would drop that little attitude. He moved quickly, and pinned her beneath him on the couch.

He was about to peel those skin tight clothes off of her, when he heard the click. For the second time within 24 hours, this woman was pointing a gun at his head. His grip loosened a little, confused. "Where the hell were you _hiding_ that thing?" Her eyes were still blank as ever. He thought perhaps she had pulled it out of the couch cushion. Mentally he kicked himself for not ransacking the furniture in his search of the house.

"I don't think you need to know that. The only thing you need to know, is that if you don't get the hell off of me, I'm going to pull this trigger." He couldn't care less whether or not she pulled the trigger, but if she did he wouldn't be able to crack the code. Maybe it was his curiosity that made him back off, or his brain overpowering his hormones. Either way, he released her hands, putting his own in the air. Besides, he had one too many plans for this city.

She did not lower the gun. The couch shifted as she stood. Gun still pointed at his head. He smirked. "You really are full of surprises."

There was no answer. "So serious. I suppose that means that we're done playing for tonight." Steely eyes glared back at him. "I thought you wanted a hands-on study?"

"I didn't say that you could you could be hands-on though did I?" And there she went again, talking down to him like a child. He kept his teeth clenched, attempting to keep from lunging at her. If it wasn't for the gun, he surely would have. Intriguing little thing or not, she was getting under his skin. Death may not scare her, but raping her sure as hell would have taught her a thing or two.

Instead, he stood too and opened the garment bag that she had given him. The purple coat was the first thing that he saw. He decided not to ask how she had gotten the clothes dry cleaned so fast. As she had said money buys a lot of things. He held the sleeve up, inspecting where the stain had been. Not even a hint of blood. He frowned as he inspected his shirt. There were a few tears there from Batman's gauntlets. When he arrived back at the hideout he would have to swap this one out for a replacement. A pity, but that was why he had made so many.

He watched her, her eyes narrowed as he slipped his pants on. Purposely he took his time slipping the rest of his clothes on. Slowly buttoning his shirt and vest. Then he slipped himself into the jacket. As he tucked his shirt into his pants, he locked eyes with her. If looks could kill, they would both be laying dead on the floor. Sparks flying between them. He stood there for several minutes barefoot. His stubbornness keeping him from turning his back on her. The barrel of the gun mocking him. She wouldn't shoot, he knew that. But it would be backing down if he simply turned around. Joker did not back down from anyone. Especially not to a woman.

She was the one who broke the silence. "Get the rest of your stuff." She motioned towards the hall with the gun. Reluctantly, he turned away.

As he was returning the knives to his pocket, he found himself laughing. He could not remember the last time that someone had bested him like this. It was amusing, her attempt to control the situation. If he wanted he could turn the tables so easily. If he was able to get close enough, his strength was more than enough to overpower her. Gun or not, she wouldn't be able to shoot him if her arms were disabled. And that gave him an idea.

After retrieving his belongings, he returned to the living room. She was standing by the door, gun held at her side now. "Well dear, it's been fun. I can see I've overstayed my welcome." He made a gesture with his hand, as if he was tipping a hat to her.

Nothing. No reaction. "Maybe next time we can go out for a night on the town."

"If there is a next time."

"Oh sweetheart, I don't think you'd be able to stay away from me. You know you find me irresistible." He winked at her suggestively.

"Right." She turned to unlock the door, leaving herself open. Acting quickly, he knocked the gun out of her hand with a one swift movement. Her back slammed against the door, and he held her hands above her head. He thought perhaps she would be furious, but he could not tell. It seemed a good idea to make her as uncomfortable as he possibly could. He licked his lips, and whispered into her ear, "You know it's been a long time since I've had a good fucking. How long has it been for you?"

She spit in his face. He frowned, rage boiling beneath the surface. Shifting his arms, he held her hands with one of his own. Then he slapped her hard across the face. There was a loud smack and she turned to glare at him. "That was the _wrong_ _fucking_ thing to do," he growled at her. His body pressed up against her, the excitement pulsing through his veins. God was he going to enjoy putting her in her place.

She fought against him as he started to bite at her neck a little bit too hard. He could hear her breathing becoming erratic. If he hadn't known that she was shaking with anger, he would have thought she was enjoying this as much as he was. He pulled back to look into her eyes, proving his dominance over her. His eyes darted to her lips, and he forced a kiss from her. He could feel his erection pressing against the side of her leg. It felt good to feel the warmth of her skin against him.

There was a sharp pain and a flash of light. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, his vision a little hazy. As the seconds passed, he realized that he had hit the hard wood floor. She had kneed him in the balls and wrenched herself from his grasp. His eyes flew to the gun, she was diving for it. Forgetting the pain he was in, he forced himself to his feet and tackled her to the ground. There was a dull ache in his knee as it hit the hard floor. He imagined her head hurt much worse than his knee, seeing as how there had been a crack when it connected with the floor.

Again he tried to force his mouth on hers. Somehow, with an unexpected surge of strength, she managed to roll out from underneath him. Her hand reached for the gun, but he was faster. The gun cocked and for a change it was pointed at her head. There was a sharp intake of breath from her, then she laughed. His brows furrowed in confusion. He thought about just shooting her, getting it over with. What was it that they had said? Curiosity killed the cat.

"What's so funny?" She just laughed harder. His temper got the better of him, and he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled. She grew silent, and he became aware of something poking him in the stomach. His eyes traveled down to her hands. Somehow, some _fucking_ how she had managed to get a hold of one of his knives. It was poised, ready to stab him in the gut at any moment. He looked back up to her eyes, shockingly readable to him again. Mirth and excitement. What in the hell? The only person he had ever known that became excited at the prospect of dying was..._himself_.

As he looked into her eyes, he saw green in his peripheral. Looking up, he saw the grenade in her other hand, above her head. His crazed laughter filled the air. He could almost feel tears in his eyes. "How...the hell...did you...do that," he managed in between fits of laughter. She shrugged.

At that moment, he decided that she was worthy of living. At least for tonight. Though he would be back to visit her soon. Perhaps after he and Eddy had a chance to discuss tactics. Then he could pop in on her again. This look in her eyes, made the predator in him hungrier. Oh he was going to understand her. Then when he did...her mind would be his to warp.

Without warning, he pushed himself away from her. He offered a hand, but she refused it. She stood, and he offered the gun back to her, barrel pointing towards him. Perhaps to anyone else it would have seemed idiotic, but he knew she would not hurt him. Until she understood him, she would have that same hunger that he had.

"Well, that was fun!" She took the gun from him, swapping it for the knife. He chuckled as he returned it the inside of his jacket. "Now dear, the grenade."

She watched him with suspicion, but she did return it. "Don't worry dear. I've decided that I like you. I don't usually kill the people I like, so consider yourself lucky. Until you tick me off again." He did not wait for a reply, instead opening the door to leave.

Before he exited, he blew her another kiss. He left her there hair a mess with an amused look on her face.

In the elevator, he realized that the wound in his chest had opened back up. Blood was soaking his shirt. It was trash anyway. But damn, how he did like to play rough.

Once again dodging headlights, he took off into the night. He stopped at a payphone and started dialing. It rang three times and then there was the nasally voice of a middle aged man on the other end.

"Eddy. It's Mr. J. I need a ride."

* * *

_Sorry again about the delay in this chapter. I have a definite plot planned out, but I've having trouble getting from point A to point B. _


	5. note from me!

Hey readers, I've not given up on this story! Right as I started rewriting my chapters I experienced some financial troubles that have taken up most of my time. Shortly after I lost my job, and am just now getting back into the swing of a full time job.

I have been working on editing my chapters as well as working on some new ones. I'm trying to stockpile some chapters before I post again so that my updates will come faster.

Thanks for sticking with me!


	6. Rookies

_Yay, I got an update in!_

_Okay...so this chapter gets a little graphic at the end...not too bad though. Sorry for the shortness of the chapter. Hope you guys enjoy. Keep reviewing!_

* * *

**_Thou shalt not be a victim. Thou shalt not be a perpetrator. Above all, thou shalt not be a bystander._**

_If you're good at something, never do it for free._

* * *

The wind bit into his skin, even through his clothes. Goosebumps popped up on his arms, and he repressed the urge to shudder. Though it really was a warm night, the breeze felt chilly in the shadows of Gotham. Perhaps it didn't help that his shirt was torn. And he felt unusually naked without his face on. Standing there in the alleyway, he realized for the first time that he hadn't had it on all day. His new toy had been one of very few people to see him without it in the past few years. Viktor and Eddy, and perhaps a handful of henchmen he had let see him this way. There had been the crowd at the previous commissioners funeral procession, but they had not known it was him. He didn't count them. His doll had no idea just how lucky she was. His face was a symbol, the symbol of driving fear into others. A symbol that he was superior to everyone else. She had gotten to see the man beneath the mask, well...the physical man. Still...

Joker stamped his foot against the asphalt impatiently. Eddy sure was taking his sweet time. Though he really wasn't running late, it felt an eternity to him. Patience was not exactly on of his virtues. And it did not help that Joker had an extreme distaste for Eddy. A warm feeling filled his stomach as he thought about when he finally would be able to kill him. How would he do it? Give him a permanent smile to take to the grave? No, he wasn't good enough for that. Perhaps he would cut into him with a scalpel and let him watch as he removed his entrails. Blood pouring from his stomach into his lap. That sounded like fun. Or maybe he would just blow him to pieces, rigged to a bomb in one of his little schemes. Or maybe he could chop him into pieces and make him fish food. Little chunks of Eddy floating around in the bay. The sharks coming up to get a little taste of the bastard. They all sounded good to him.

The faint beam of headlights filtered through the mist that had started to form in the city. Joker squinted, trying to make out the car. A beat up little pick up truck without license plates. It was dirty and gray, instead of the white it was supposed to be. He doubted that it had every been washed since it had been driven off the lot. As it neared him, the headlights went out. The signal. It was Eddy. Glancing around for any bystanders, he closed the distance between himself and the vehicle quickly. He hit the side of the passenger door, and it swung open.

He did not say a word as he stepped up into the pickup. Eddy knew better than to ask questions, and did not speak either. The interior had the thick scent of cigarette smoke hanging in the air. The cherry air freshener did little to cover it up. Instead it smelled like cherry flavored cigars. At least it was warm in the cab. He cracked his neck, and closed his eyes. The sound of squealing breaks in the distance made him open his eyes again. Some car in the distance peeling out.

Eddy put the truck in gear and pulled away. They sped away down the street...a little too fast. He was going to draw attention to them, and for once that is not what he wanted. He turned his gaze towards the gruff man next to him and cleared his throat. He hoped that he would get the hint. He did not exactly feel like conversing at the moment. Apparently he did, because the truck slowed to the speed limit.

As the street lights passed over his face, he looked out the window. Buildings whizzed by. He noted that more lights were on than normal. Either people afraid to go to bed, or an attempt to keep unwanted visitors out. Like that would really stop a determined murderer.

The scent of skunky cologne and poorly concealed body odor invaded his senses. It made him nauseous. He needed an excuse to open the window, if not he might end Eddy's life prematurely. "Give me a cigarette," he demanded roughly. His legs stretched out and he heard the sound of shifting bottles and cardboard. Looking down, he realized that the floorboards were littered with garbage. He made a mental note to not ask Eddy for any more rides in the future. The stupid moron didn't even have enough sense to make himself presentable for his own boss. The Joker for christs sake and he can't even gather up the empty bottles and McDonald s bags. Slob was added to Eddy's already poor repertoire. Which already consisted of asshole, moron, and sleazy.

As they stopped at a red light, Eddy silently dug around in his pockets. He pulled out a red and white box. Marlboros. He handed it over to his boss, and then dug in his pockets again. This time he pulled out a silver zippo. Joker took it without saying a word. It was warm from being in the pocket and it was smudged from Eddy's fingerprints. Ignoring it, opened the lighter and lit it. He cupped the flame as he pulled a breath, cigarette between his lips. Instantly, the cigarette sprung to life. With a flick of the wrist, he closed the zippo. Pulling another drag from the cigarette, he rolled the window down. Cold air greeted him, and he ignored it. Anything was better than the putrid smell of Eddy's cologne. As he smoked, he felt the familiar warm sensation filling his lungs. The nicotine flowing through his veins felt good. But he did need more. Perhaps some morphine or heroin. Something to give him a jolt. He would have to set up a fix when they got back.

Watching the buildings and street signs pass by put him into a trance and his mind began to wonder as it often did. The past few weeks events passed through his mind. How much Gotham had showed it's ugly side since he had made his appearance. From the fear toxin incident in the Narrows when he made his first appearance in Gotham, to his near death at the Prewitt Center. The bank jobs and the confrontations with the Bat. The murders, Gotham General, the ferries, _Dent_...

He wondered exactly what Dent had done that resulted in his demise. There had been rumors, but no one really knew. The only ones that knew now were Gordan and the Bat. Only they had witnessed Harvey on his war path. His little push obviously had done better than he could have hoped. If only he could have been there to witness his little creation. His Frankenstein. A grin spread across his lips at that thought. He, Dr. Frankenstein in that white lab coat.._.it's alive!_ And Dent with bolts jutting from his neck, arms outstretched and groaning. A monster. _His_ monster...his creation.

He wondered what good ole Gordon was up to at this moment. Planning his capture, trying to figure out how to work with the Bat. It would be a very entertaining ordeal. The whole entire force after Batman except for full of good will Gordon. He imagined the look on his face when he realized that he had slipped through their fingers yet another time. That dainty little SWAT officer that he had terrorized. Oh Gordon must have been pissed. Imagine how he would have felt if she hadn't lived? Oh poor little James. If only he knew that he had been hiding only 30 minutes away from his own home! Hiding in that...penthouse...

With his doll. Interesting that he was already considering her his own. Maybe if she had not admitted that she had been fascinated with him, it would be different. Whatever the case, the moment that she had uttered those words; in his mind she became his. His doll...and as he dwelled on it, he had a thought. She truly was like a doll. Beautiful with her pale porcelain face, and silky hair. And those damn eyes so blank, mocking him. Like they were just painted on. So intriguing that he found himself anxious for their next encounter. Anxious to just touch her. She was so lifeless, that he had to make sure that she truly was tangible. So lifeless...until him. Then there was a spark in her eye. As if she felt as alive as him. It did bother him ever so slightly that she was occupying so much of his thoughts. But Batman had been the same..._was_ the same.

Ah, the Batman. That stubborn man thought that dressing up in a costume and beating up bad guys was going to change the world. Scare them maybe, make them refine their tactics. But crime would never stop. It was within human nature. Since the dawn of man, if a man wanted something he simply took it. Justified or not. There would always be someone out there with a different perspective trying to stop them. Slap their hands and tell them no. They might cower, whimper like a dog in trouble. But just because a mean dog cowers, that doesn't mean that they are tamed. They're still feral, and the moment you turn your back and show weakness, bam, they strike. Tear out your throat.

But Batman was much more than that. He wasn't simply enforcing the laws, being the little do-gooder. Something was different about him, and Joker could not quite put his finger on it. It wasn't about being the good citizen and upholding the law. The way that he "worked" for lack of a better time, it was as if he was exacting some weird vengeance. Like he had a vendetta against every single criminal in the city. There was a hatred in his eyes that Joker had never seen before. A hatred that wasn't just reserved for Joker, murderers, the big dogs. It was in his eyes even for the petty criminals. Burglars, thieves. It didn't matter. Every criminal was the same in the Batman's eyes. Truly he really wasn't any different than himself. He simply hated a different group of people. If only Joker could get that self righteous bastard to see that the innocent and the cretins that he fought, were one and the same. He was messed up now, wait until he realized what the clown had been telling him all along was the truth.

He thought that Batman was bizarre. Then there was his doll. That fearless little vixen. Laughing in his face...laughing at death. Even Batman feared death a little bit. He had seen it in his eyes. But she...she was unlike anything he had ever encountered before. Other worldly almost. Or perhaps just off her rocker.

Vaguely he felt warmth on his hand, and he was reminded of the lit cigarette in between his fingers. Not letting it go to waste, he took another drag. There was something odd tasting about this cigarette. Another pull on the cancer stick revealed that it was stale. He resisted the urge to glare at Eddy. This man had to be the epitome of white trash. So out of place in Gotham. He wondered silently what Eddy did with all the money he was getting paid by him. Hell, Joker had been more than a little perturbed during the salary negotiations. Eddy had demanded far more than necessary. Joker had only obliged because he knew that Eddy would not be around very long. Unbeknownst to Eddy. Besides money was nothing more than green paper to him.

He found himself wishing that Viktor was here in Gotham. There was a man who knew the vision. He and Eddy were as night and day.

Joker stretched his legs out, feeling suddenly cramped in the filthy cab of the pickup. In between streaks of street lamps filtering through the windows he saw already scratched lottery tickets and empty whiskey bottles. He felt a twinge of irritation. This was what Eddy spent all that that money on? Cheap booze and scratchers? Couldn't go get a decent car to drive the boss around in, or at the very least make himself presentable. Not even a shred of professionalism. How the hell had he been able to get his degrees or a job as a psychologist for that matter? He felt his eye twitch involuntarily from the fury that was building itself up. It was time for a distraction.

"How many are left-_ah_?"

Eddy looked bewildered for a moment, not expecting his boss to talk. He kept his eye on the road, avoiding looking over at the man next to him. The clown noticed that Eddy's knuckles were white, gripping the steering wheel tightly. Normally Joker loved this reaction. But from Eddy, it disgusted him. It wasn't him that he was afraid of. For some reason or another, Eddy had the audacity to put himself in the same category as the Joker. Thinking that if he was number two that he had some level of power over the city. Idiotic. He was just a leech, mooching off of others success. Maybe that was how he had made it through medical school. No, the thing that bothered Eddy was the garish scars on his face. They disgusted Eddy as much as Eddy disgusted Joker. And this reaction made it very hard for him not to just slit his throat right now. The only thing keeping him alive was the fact that for the time being, Joker needed him.

Eddy did not answer for several minutes, the meaning of the question not sinking in. Joker grew impatient. "The clowns. How many evaded Gordon's men?" He spoke slowly, enunciating every word. Much like an adult would to a toddler.

The look in Eddy's eyes told him that it finally had registered. Dumb _and_ slow. It was painful to partake in. "Most of them were caught within an hour. Stupid fucks were too incoherent to know what was going on." He chose to ignore Eddy's choice of words. _Stupid fucks._ Ignorant mental patients who needed a little guidance. That was the term that he preferred. _They're all smarter than you, you dumb monkey._ Besides if it wasn't for those stupid fucks, Eddy wouldn't be alive right now. Somehow, somehow Joker managed to bite his tongue on this one.

"Eleven made it back to the hideout." Hideout...that was another word Joker didn't like. He preferred base of operations. The thought of stabbing Eddy in the jugular was becoming more and more attractive at this moment. Registering that his boss had remained quiet, he did not continue. Every once in a while, he knew when to hold his tongue.

Eleven left. How many had he sent out? Fifty maybe? He had not bothered to remember, it was not relevant to the cause. Still eleven was not many. There was maybe a handful that he had not sent out. He would need to start looking for replacements. More pawns to use and throw away. At least more of the special pawns. For that particular mission he had only sent out the incoherent ones. He still had a mess of...normal men back at the base. They were the ones he used for the more elaborate plans, the ones that required a sane mind. The ones he had to actually pay for their services. Worms, all of them.

He ashed his cigarette out the window, and turned to look at Eddy. "You still have that list of patients still missing from Arkham?" He only nodded. "Good, I need it. Time to start tracking down some more ah...new recruits."

He nodded again, refusing to look over at him. Joker could see his discomfort from his eyes boring into him. That did please him. He wanted Eddy to be uncomfortable. To know that he wasn't indispensable.

A real smile spread across his face. He took one last drag before flicking the cigarette out the window. As he was about to roll up the window, it suddenly started to pour. It pelted the windshield mercilessly. The rain sprayed into the window, misting onto his face. It felt good.

Eddy looked over at him, his expression one of annoyance. Joker could tell that he was thinking about telling him to roll up the window. He wouldn't though, too afraid to make his boss angry. Oh but Joker certainly dared him to do it. Give him one excuse to go off on him, and slit his throat. This time Eddy kept quiet. So he closed his eyes and held his hand outside the window, letting the cold water splash on his flesh. He could almost feel Eddy's eyes boring into him. Like the water was going to ruin anything in his piece of crap truck. The only thing it was going to do was dampen the already ruined upholstery.

There was a squeal as the brakes were applied, like nails on chalkboard to him. He resisted the urge to flinch. The sound of the engine cut off, and he realized that they had reached their destination. The trip had been much shorter than he expected. After all they were going from Upper Gotham to the Narrows. Then again it was very late at night, and they weren't very many cars on the road. Then again that could have been because of last night's events too.

With a sigh, he opened his eyes and rolled up the window. The rain pelted the roof of the car, unwilling to let up. Eddy seemed to be thinking the same thing. They both sat in the car for a few minutes in silence, waiting for the rain to stop. It didn't. Figures. Finally Eddy shrugged and started rummaging around for something. He pulled an umbrella out from in between the seats. Joker looked to the windshield, and then back to Eddy.

"Give me that," he said before Eddy could open the car door. The greasy man looked to him, and glanced at the umbrella. He looked angry and fed up. Then reluctantly handed over the umbrella. He grumbled and then jumped out of the truck. Joker took his time opening the umbrella and exiting the vehicle himself. Eddy was running like an idiot ahead of him. He chuckled, feeling satisfied with himself. No matter how fast he could run, he was still going to end up drenched.

He, on the other hand would arrive dry and comfortable. It was his fault for parking so far away from the warehouse. He had parked with the diesel trucks. Possibly in an attempt to make it look like it belonged to an employee. How parking a pickup next to trucks with logos fit in would make it look any more normal, Joker did not know.

The same logo that was on the trucks was illuminated dimly on the neon sign above the warehouse's entrance. It flickered almost eerily in the night. Something about windows, it said. That was their cover. Though that was as far as the ploy went. Joker did not have the patience to actually hire a crew to install windows to keep the ruse more realistic. So it was just the warehouse and the trucks. It was more than enough. No one had ever questioned them. Nobody had even tried to contact them about windows. It was perfect.

The air inside was musty, but it was warm. Eddy was peeling his jacket off and quietly cursing to some of the other men. When the door slammed shut, he changed the subject and laughed. Trying to cover his ass, not wanting to let it be known that he was complaining about the Joker. It did not go unnoticed. However, he didn't say anything. He wouldn't be alive much longer anyway.

Joker deliberately shook the umbrella, closed it and set it next to the door. Eddy's eyes narrowed, but he remained silent. He took a glance around and made a split decision.

"Eddy." It was his turn to bore his gaze into Eddy. The look on his face said what the hell do you want now? That wasn't what came out of his mouth.

"Yeah boss?"

"We're moving. Somewhere in Upper Gotham. Find a bigger place. You have three days." The lanky Italian only nodded, and then turned away ready to go start making preparations.

Then there was a cocky voice to their right. "What the fuck? We just got here like two weeks ago. What the hell man, why we gotta leave again?"

Eddy stopped dead in his tracks, and turned to the loudmouth. He watched the man with concern. Knowing that people who questioned the boss didn't generally last very long. And when the boss was mad, you stopped. It didn't matter if he had just given you an order, you stopped until the situation was resolved. Because when he was angry, sudden movements could mean you end up dead. He tried to whisper a warning to him.

The clown, however, was looking at him through narrowed eyes. He was relatively new, not one that he had seen before. That wasn't surprising. He didn't see a lot of the men that got hired, it was Eddy's job to deal with all of the crew. In fact, sometimes Joker didn't even get to meet some of the men before they died. The downside to this was there was always some hotshot, some show-off that didn't know how things worked.

This guy, would be that show-off. He laughed, not sensing the danger that hung in the air. The room stayed silent, except for a few of the new ones giving a halfhearted chuckle. Even most of the boys he hadn't met knew better than question him. They had heard stories. Heard about the men who had died gruesomely. Then there were the ones who ignored them. Gradually sensing something was wrong, the newbie started to shift nervously.

Obviously he hadn't much more sense than that because he opened his mouth again. "You serious man? Three days. Ain't shit gonna get done in three days." There wasn't even a chuckle now, save for his own nervous laughter.

The men were watching the show in horrified interest. They looked from one to the other, waiting to see what would happen. Well, he couldn't disappoint could he? No, he had a reputation to uphold. And he needed to teach his men a lesson. Normally the makeup was enough to keep them quiet. Drove fear straight to their hearts. But these lucky few got to see him without it, he had to let them know how it was. No one questions the Joker.

He smiled wide, and skipped over to the newbie. "You know, you are _abso-lutely_ right. Why, what was I thinking?" He slung his arm around the man's shoulder, earning a few surprised gasps from the others. The tension was noticeable, mostly from Eddy who knew that it was not all clear yet. Loudmouth was not getting the hint however, and he seemed to think that Joker was paying him a compliment.

His stance told him that he was relaxed, a little egotistical. Looking into his eyes, he saw arrogance and ignorance. A bad combination. He was probably thinking something along the lines of,_ this guy isn't so tough. I don't know what the hell everyone is so afraid for. I could take this clown any day_!

Joker did not like that. No, not one little bit. His smile did not falter, not yet. "Tell me. What is your name?"

There was a smug look on his face. Trying to impress the rest of the goons. Trying to establish some sort of control. Moron.

"Tony," he said in a thick Bronx accent. Tony. He didn't like that name. It sounded like a name for a crooked man. A bastard pedophile, complete with plenty of asshole to go around. A schmuck that beat women and spent all of his money on booze and titty bars. That was what came to mind when he heard the name Tony. No...he did not like Tony at all.

"Tony," he repeated slowly. The smug face never disappeared from Tony's face. It irked Joker. Made his blood boil. "Well Tony, tell me where are you from?"

There was a confused look on the young man's face as he puzzled over where the line of questioning was going. "Grew up here in Gotham," he answered proudly.

"Ah..." He patted Tony on the back, making him feeling a little uncomfortable. "Gotham grown. A Gothamite. Than you know what you are talking about." From the corner of his eye, Joker saw Eddy backing away slowly. Dumb as shit, but still smarter than the rookie. Newbie just nodded, his chest puffed out.

He then patted Tony's face, as perhaps a rowdy over affectionate uncle would. "Then you know better than to talk back to the boss, right?" There was acid dripping from his words, and at last the the newbie started to get the hint. Nervously, he started to back away. Testing the waters. Joker held tightly to his arm. "Hey, hey now. I asked you a question." The look in his eyes was priceless. Joker really was surprised that the guy didn't piss himself right there. Tony obviously was starting to realize that he had picked a fight with the wrong man.

There was a taunting smile on the clown's lips. "Do...you...know...better?" He drew the sentence out in that deathly playful voice that he reserved for when he really meant business. Tony only nodded. "Yeah...I thought so." His tongue flicked out to lick his lips. Nerves were running high in the rest of the warehouse.

The looks on the others faces told him that Tony wasn't very well liked by them either. However seeing him killed wasn't exactly what they had in mind. Too bad. Joker didn't cut breaks, especially to little piss ants that talked back.

He turned back to Tony, the devilish smile spreading across his face. "I bet you smart enough to know that the police are looking for us too, right?" Tony's eyes were wide, praying that he would only get off with a warning. _Tsk tsk_. "Answer me," his tone deadly. He nodded again. "And you know that the Narrows is one of the first places that they would look?"

Tony closed his eyes this time as he nodded. Again he tried to back away, and the Joker caught him in a headlock. The man gasped for breath, and only received a chuckle as an answer. "Ah, ah, ah." He waved his finger in front of Tony's face. Eddy took another step backwards.

"You listen to me when I'm talking to you. Don't you walk away from me." It reminded him of scolding a small child. "So, uh, where were we?" Joker tapped his foot, pretending to think. "Oh yes...the police are looking for us here in the Narrows. And guess where we are at..._here_ in the Narrows." Tony was shaking now, losing consciousness. He was also drooling a little, unable to control himself. Now, he didn't want that. Not yet. He loosened his grip just enough that Tony could get a gulp full of air. He still shook, now solely out of fear. "So we are on a tight schedule now."

Warm liquid trickled down Joker's arm. He felt disgust swell in his chest. This little piss ant was crying now. Here he was having a good time teaching the man what's what, and he had to go and start sobbing like a little sissy. Grown men should never cry. No matter what the excuse. It really hadn't taken that much to set the little pecker off the edge. Joker didn't need people like that in his ranks. "So I think under the circumstances, three days is plenty of time. Don't you?" He prodded Tony in the side with two fingers, digging into his ribs.

"Yes," Tony managed to choke out. He released Tony suddenly, and the man toppled to the floor. He laughed, gesturing with his arms theatrically. "Atta boy."

Tony whimpered. Cowering on the floor. The room remained silent as Joker stood there for several moments just watching the man, loathing him. Weak, pitiful. Several minutes passed before Tony looked up again. When he did, the clown was standing over him with his hands on his hips. "There, there. I think you've learned your lesson...right?" His voice was soothing, like a mother to a frightened child. Tony nodded, some light shining in his eyes. Thinking he was out of the woods. Oh so wrong.

Somewhere along the car ride over, Joker had acquired a gun from Eddy's glove box. The man hadn't said a word as he had tucked it in his waist band. Now he pulled the gun out and pointed it at Tony's face. His face drained of color, eyes wide. The oh shit look.

He panicked, and began trying to plea his way out of it. "No man! Don't! I'm sorry, it won't happen again!" He shook his head frantically, sobbing in front of all of them. Spittle flew from his mouth, falling to the floor. "Please, I'll do anything."

Joker smiled, then pulled the trigger. The bullet hit Tony in the knee cap. He screamed high pitched, like a girl. His hands clutched tightly around his knee. Blood pooled on the floor in a thick puddle. "Well...I think now you've learned your lesson."

Tony only sobbed over his injured leg. As Joker turned to walk away, he let out an audible sigh of relief. Oh...he had to go and do that. Joker turned on his heel and pulled the trigger again.

Then he was dead.

Silently, he tucked the gun back into his waistband. He stepped over the gray matter as if it was merely a pile of garbage. Eddy was pale, and resisting the urge to tremble. And probably vomit. He looked at his boss, but did not make eye contact, waiting for further instructions.

He cocked his head to the side, amused at the whole scene. Those little boys were afraid of one little body. Even though most of them were hardened killers themselves. However even these men seemed to pale when they saw their boss kill. Maybe it was because there was no mercy, or the gleeful look in his eyes. Or maybe it was because it was someone they knew. Whatever the case, Joker did not understand. A dead body was a dead body. Everyone dies. No reason to get all weird and solemn over it.

He looked up at the men standing on the catwalk above him. One of them flinched when his eyes met his own. He let out a chuckle. "Now, someone come clean up this mess so Eddy here can get some work done."

No one moved.

His eye twitched. If he had one pet peeve, it was when his orders weren't followed. He stamped his foot impatiently. "Now. Before I make a bigger mess to clean up."

There was a pause, and then a scramble of commotion as the men frantically went into motion. The men on the second level clamored down loudly, and the men on the first floor scuttled around the pavement frenziedly. Well, talk about motivation. If he was lucky they would have the mess cleaned up in just over an hour.

He inspected himself momentarily, making sure none of Tony had managed to get on him. Come to think of it, he had another pet peeve. People like Tony. No backbone with a false front. Breaking easily under pressure. He hadn't even threatened him before the man broke down. Deplorable behavior for...how best to put this? As much as he pondered on it, the only word that seemed to best describe it was henchman. Cliche, but true. He was a little disappointed, killing Tony was just short of satisfying. There had been no challenge, no fight. Completely opposite of...and damn it, his mind had to wonder in that direction didn't it?

Back to that ferocious look in her eyes, the boldness in her stance. Her defiant will to his advances and attacks. Those curves and long legs. And now he felt the uncontrollable urge to mess with her head. To make her feel unsafe, even while he was away. Yeah, his mind just had to wonder in that direction.

Then an idea came to mind. He remembered something that could come in handy.

Before Eddy could exit the room, he grabbed his shoulder. The schmuck jumped. Ignoring his distaste for the man, he got straight to the point. "Did the girl get taken into custody?"

There was a bewildered look on Eddy's face. Joker rolled his eyes. "That one that seems to think that we are soul-mates." The last word was laced with distaste. He did not believe in all that love in first sight, head over heels nonsense. In fact he did not really know what love was. Just some silly emotion that other people let cloud their minds. Something that he would never understand, or stomach for that matter.

He racked his brain for a name. There it was. "Amber. Where is that sweet little _gem_?" His tone was thick with sarcasm. Eddy sure did not miss it.

Eddy's eyes flashed with something. Acknowledgment. "In GPD's holding cell. She was one of the first ones picked up. From what the boys tell me, she ran in front of a squad car screaming about how you are uncatchable. Then something about divine chaotic love or something like that." The disgust washed over Eddy's face, just as it washed over Joker's insides. Though for something entirely different. Over the fact that Joker had warped the girl's mind more than likely.

He made a sour face. Amber's faux pas really was a downer. Though he hated the way she followed him around like a lost puppy dog, she was easy. On the rare occasion that he had sexual urges, she had been around for him to use.

He remembered the first time that he had seen her. Dirty and frightened, backed into a corner. He had killed her boyfriend. The pecker had been stupid enough to mess with him. She was a bonus. Young and easy malleable. He had always suspected something was off with her, some mental instability. Chemical imbalance or something. That thought had been reinforced when she offered to give him a ride and help dispose of the boyfriends body. It was so easy to warp her little mind around. Not much fun though. Still she was good for a quick lay. And the crazy girls always were the best in the sack. That fact had made him keep her along much longer than he had intended. However after hearing of this little stunt, she certainly would not last much longer. Perhaps he would simply let her rot in her new accommodation. Let her think that he was coming to come to her rescue.

But right now, he was more preoccupied with his current situation. "Well Plan B then. Tell me, do you know a good place to pick up women?" Eddy stared dumbfounded. Of course that had been a dumb question to ask him. The only action he got was probably from his own hand. The man was so slimy and greasy he would be surprised if a woman even bothered to look in his direction.

"Depends on whether you want a hooker or a nice lady that just had a little too much to drink and is willing to come home with you." The voice came from behind them. He spun on his heel, forgetting about Eddy. A middle-aged man, who looked like he wouldn't have any problems picking up any type of girl. He was another that Joker hadn't seen before. A newer recruit, but just looking at him Joker could tell that he was an experienced man. A seasoned man in this field. The kind that didn't ask unneeded questions. He met the Joker's eyes without hesitance. Not even a glance at his scars. A sign of respect. He liked that. Even Eddy hadn't that much sense.

"Mmmm...Well, I don't really feel like getting any diseases tonight. Those uh ladies of the night tend to share more than just their services." The man laughed at the joke.

"Fair enough. Yeah, I know a real good place to pick a girl up. How soon do you want one?"

Straight to the point. Didn't even ask if Joker wanted to go himself, he was willing to do the dirty work for him. Not that it really was dirty work, but still. He was ready to get things done. He smiled. "How fast can you get one?"

"Two hours tops." _Confident._

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well then. You have two hours." Though two hours was longer than he really wanted to wait, he supposed his libido could manage. It would give him time to decide exactly what games he wanted to play tonight.

His..._employee_ for lack of a better term, gave a nod. "Any preference?" All the right questions.

That smile spread further across his face. "Dark hair. Blue eyes. Confident." He nodded again and left without another word.

And on that note Joker went to put his face back on. And to shoot up. If he remembered correctly, one of his men had a stash of heroine and morphine hidden in one of the ceiling tiles. Good thing for him that the guy had died two weeks prior. Stupid enough to get caught in front of a mobster's bullet.

* * *

_Walt_, he learned was the man's name, really had done a good job. He would have to remember to reward him later. Maybe give him a little extra bundle of cash, something. He would have Eddy fix something up for him.

He hadn't bothered to ask how he managed to do it, that was Walt's secret.

But what a task it must have been. And he had been back in just over an hour. He really did get the job done.

A nice hot little piece of tail. Stuck up and a prude. But still a nice piece of ass. Besides it would add to all the fun.

The brunette was huddled on the air mattress in the corner of the dimly lit room.

Really it wasn't even fit enough to be a sleazy hotel room, but warehouses don't exactly come with bedrooms. So he had improvised. Next to the door was a beaten up dresser with a mirror. An old clothing rack stood against a wall, his suits hanging there innocently. Other than those items, some various weapons and rope, and the mattress...the room was bare. And filthy. Cobwebs in the corners of the ceilings, and a thin layer of dust covered everything. Including the floor. Not as if he was really aiming to impress though.

The dim light came from two candles that were lit on the dresser. He had always liked it to be dark when he was in the act. It made him feel like the animal that he was.

The pretty little thing was weeping silently, glaring at him now. Her sleeve was torn from her struggle earlier. A striking difference from her first reaction. She had been struggling against Walt, anxiety creeping up when they had pulled up to the warehouse. Not exactly what she had been expecting. Walt had seemed like a proper gentleman when she had first seen him. Suave and handsome. Smooth and funny. He had just been too charming to resist when he had offered her a ride. Not something she normally did, but it had been so long since she had even kissed a man. Besides, she would never see him again. She could have her fun and then go back to her boring gray life the next day.

All that had gone out the window when the truck pulled in front of the rundown warehouse in the Narrows. Then she had started to second guess everything. But Walt had seemed so nice...but then again so had Charles Manson and Ted Bundy. She had started to scream for help and try to take off down the ghetto neighborhood.

Then she had seen him. Seen the scars. She grew quiet, whimpered, and then tried to fight her way out again. Hysteria took hold of her mind and she bit and scratched. Really pointless against knives and guns. And him. But sometimes the will to survive overpowers common sense.

An hour later, they finally had subdued her and any ideas that she had had about escaping. Now she was resigned to watching him with rage in those pretty blue orbs.

He really would have preferred green eyes, but at this time of night he wasn't going to press his luck. Green eyes were rare enough as it was. And in any case, no girl really would be the same as her. As long as they looked similar it would be fine.

And now he watched her intensely, the light flickering across her face. His eyes bore into her skin, dark and menacing. There was a sly smile sitting on his face. He could feel the hatred seething out of her. And he could smell her fear. Oh he was going to enjoy this.

She flinched as he made his way across the room towards her. It was delicious. He kicked his shoes off of his feet before he sat on the edge of the mattress. That look in her eyes was wonderful too! She would attack him if she thought it would do any good. But it wouldn't. Not with thirty men waiting downstairs that were armed to their teeth, ready to kill on command. And perhaps do worse than just kill her. There were no women here, only men. No she would just have to ride it out and hope that she didn't die.

The gloves came off, literally and he laid them neatly next to the mattress. His hand reached out to caress her face, mocking tenderness. "Tell me little lady, what is your name?" The sarcasm in his words was tangible. He was jeering her, letting her know he was in charge. Letting her know that he only had one intention for her.

He could have sworn that a feral growl emerged from her throat. Oh this was going to be better than he thought. Slowly and deliberately he removed a knife from his pocket. There was a _schink_ as it flipped open. He played with the knife for a moment, than turned back to the girl. "You know...I really don't like the silent treatment. But if you insist, I could help your vow of silence by cutting out your tongue." He traced her cheek with the cold metal blade, allowing the idea to really sink in. The though of her bloody tongue laying on the floor.

Those eyes went wide with shock and realization. No doubt she had heard the horror stories on the news, the rumors in the subways. Either way, he could tell she would be compliant for the most part. "So sweetie, have a name?"

Through clenched teeth he heard her say, "Sarah."

He grinned, and fingered a lock of her chocolate hair. "Sarah, Sarah, Sarah." His finger traced her jawline. "Such a pretty name." He laid on the theatrics a little thick, making her as uncomfortable as he possibly could. He really was getting a kick out of this whole thing. This was the kind of reaction that he loved.

"Go to hell."

"Oh ho ho! Feisty one aren't you?" Her eyes narrowed. "Let me tell you a secret. Just because you don't like me, doesn't mean I'm going to go away." She stiffened as his hand reached down to tug at her collar. He took an obvious peek down her shirt, making her feel violated. _Oh, just you wait until I really violate you._

Though those eyes pierced through him, she was too terrified to move as the knife sliced through her shirt. Straight up the middle, exposing her chest. A nice C cup staring back at him. More blood rushed to his head. So damn close. He would savor every moment.

He retracted his hands and began to work on his own shirt. His eyes never left hers, pushing that terror even further into her mind. Soon enough they were both shirtless, and he was only a stones throw away from his goal.

Without saying a word, he cut through the front of her bra fully exposing her breasts. This time she shuddered. If only it was out of pleasure. No it was terror. He whistled. "Very nice."

Gaining a surge of courage, and stupidity she tried to push him away. He did not hesitate to take action, and the knife lashed out and blood spilled from her left breast. His tongue clicked. "Now look what you made me do." He backhanded her sharply, her head whipping to the right. Tears fell down her cheek, but not a word escaped her lips. Stubborn little tease.

Silently he undressed them both, holding the knife to her throat as a warning. She did not struggle again until he grabbed a hold of her arms and tried to force her to lie down. It was the desperation kicking in, the will to fight. But no matter how much she fought, he was still stronger. So she could beat on his chest, try to bite him all she wanted. But he was still going to have his way with her.

It seemed to dawn on her, and her attempt to struggle began to subside. And as he propped himself up above her, he began to touch, grab, and squeeze every inch of her body. She bit her lip, trying to hold back her sobbing. His erection pressed against her leg, pushing against her skin. Like an intruder about to break in. What a simile that was.

Abruptly he stuck two fingers inside of her, and a gasp betrayed her. It was from pain. She was so dry. "Damn sweetie, try to enjoy yourself. You're lucky I have some lubricant." He chuckled. "Normally I'm doing the loving to myself." Her face was one of disgust. and it thrilled him.

As he tried to rub her sensitive spot, she retaliated. Her knee came up in an attempt to rack him, and she tried to throw a punch. Fury came up all in a burst. Here he was trying to make it enjoyable for her too, and that little cunt had to go and pull something like that. Stupid.

He caught her fist easily, and punched her instead. A sick crunch from her nose signifying that it was broken. Not that he cared, he was still going to have his way with her. "That was a very stupid thing you did."

She let out a yelp as he flipped her over roughly. "And I was going to make it nice and easy on you." She struggled against his weight, trying to roll herself back over. It was futile, he had her pinned quite securely. "Was going to use lube and everything. But no, now I think you're going to have to be punished."

He looked down at her ass. It was so nice and perfect. Hmm...it would still be a tight squeeze. Not wasting anymore time, he spit on his hand. Then he rubbed his shaft, giving some lubrication and forced himself fully into that tight little hole. A shriek of pain pierced his ear drums. Music to his ears...

A half hour later he emerged from the makeshift bedroom, a grin on his face. There were a few goons standing around and he motioned to them. "Find somewhere to dump the body."

* * *

_Tony, Walt, and Sarah are all OC's._

_Though it appears that Joker is a little obsessed with "his doll", remember that he is also obsessed with Batman. He also was temporarily obsessed with making Dent fall as well. In my mind, he finds strong people and provokes them. He's trying to get some sort of reaction. So this doesn't mean that he is romantically or sexually interested in her. It's more about pushing the boundaries and getting someone to break. That's where I'm headed with Joker abducting the woman for. He asked for someone similar, knowing that she would most likely make it to the news. He's counting on the mystery woman to see the news and put two and two together.  
_

_**I also wanted to address a review that was left that I wasn't able to reply to**. So, **akumaxkami,** regarding your comment about the SWAT team, I did have a reason that I wrote it the way that I did. I agree with you that the SWAT team would not normally behave in that fashion. My thinking on that is that this is far from normal circumstances. These are officers who have probably both physically and emotionally exhausted. Very recently they have learned of colleagues that are in cahoots with the Joker, on top of many other things that have been taking place. Everyone was on edge with the ferries nearly blown up, and they have just found out that they nearly shot at civilians in the Prewitt building. On top of all that, very recently there was an attack on Gotham Major Crime Unit. This would hit very close to home, as they probably lost some friends to this whacko. Considering that, some of the senior members of SWAT may have been taken out, and you'll notice that some of them behave like rookies. Everyone's nerves are absolutely shot, and here is this crazy guy who shows absolutely no remorse and finds the whole thing funny. I hope that clarifies things a little bit more for you. :)  
_


	7. Antihero

_I would first of all like to apologize for the delay in an update. There really isn't much of an excuse other than I had some writers block for some later chapters. I already had this written, but didn't want to update until I finished the chapter that I was working on. This isn't much of a chapter compared to what I normally write, but it's needed to progress the story. _

_To address Joker's drug use, I see someone as manic as him being prone to addiction. I also envision him as being too proud to admit being an addict or allow it to get out of control. He knows when his head needs to be in the game. So in my head, and in his he uses for recreational purposes but does not allow it to enslave him. The same would apply to sex and drinking._

_Also, to reiterate; the Joker is obsessed with the female protagonist. But not in a sexual or romantic way. It's more about breaking a person down, much like it was with Dent and still is with Batman._

* * *

**_A promise is a promise_**

_Starting tonight… people will die. I'm a man of my word._

* * *

He was beginning to come back down from his ace of a high now. Pretty hard too. It was slow going...and rough. He did not remember it being this bad for quite some time. And certainly it had not been this unpleasant with any of his recent fixes. Maybe it had been too long since he had shot up? His skin was beginning to warm back up now, no longer cold and clammy. The giddy light headed feeling he had was subsiding and being replaced by a throbbing agony in his ears and his temple. Most likely the that particular ache was not from the drugs, but his still present fatigue. Really he hadn't gotten much rest at all in the past few days. And damn, Batman had beaten the living hell out of him!

He could feel his shallow breaths returning back to normal. And as he began to take deeper breaths, he began to sweat. His skin felt like it was on fire, and with the heat came an intense itching all over his body. Like there were a million fire ants, crawling over him and biting at him. With that came the nausea, and he fought the urge to regurgitate the contents of his stomach. He hated that part the most. He sure was coming down really hard tonight.

He began to become truly conscious of his surroundings. The rust around the pipes in the bathroom. The mildew and grime in the tiles in the floor. The dust on the mirror, and the large serpentine crack in the yellow tinted porcelain sink. He could feel the dried blood on his skin, and the dirt under his fingernails. The grease and sweat mingling in his hair. And the distinct smell of body odor that one could only come from the heavy labor of two bodies entwined from rough sex. There was also the dull ache that was now working its way behind his eyes. It was all very..._sobering._

Though being sober wasn't much fun at times, it was so much easier to make rational decisions than when he was tanked or stoned. When presented with a question or an opportunity, he was much more likely to jump in without thinking while under the influence. It was all so simple then. That was when everything was fun, because he never knew what he was going to do. He just played it all by ear. He was a wild card.

But when he was sober, his mind would go racing. Like life in fast forward. So many things running through his head at the same time. Thinking of a plethora of options, of scenarios, scheming. Things he could do, how people would react, what message would be sent. Who he could scare, who he could break. Planning out every detail, and covering every angle. Vaguely, he thought he remembered something about being diagnosed with attention deficit disorder when he was younger. Sometimes it was a curse, other times a helping hand. It helped him find his way out of just about anything. Then again it also brought nightmares like the one from the night before. Nightmares that he hadn't had in a very long time. Actually he didn't see them so much as nightmares as he did unpleasant and annoying dreams. They didn't scare him, they just made him furious and got his adrenaline pumping. Yet he loathed those dreams, those thoughts. They reminded him of his past, who he used to be. No, _what_ he used to be.

That's why he had started using initially. Chose to get bombed. It forced those thoughts out of his mind. Forced the past away, and he forgot it all. The beating, the cursing. The pathetic excuse of a life that had been leading no where but in a large monotonous circle. Everything went out the metaphorical window. _Whoosh. _Now it was simply a way to pass time, something he did on a whim or an impulse.

It hadn't lasted nearly as long as he had wanted it to. It could have lasted a few more hours as far as he was concerned. Or hell, even a few more days. A few more hours of the toxin rushing through his veins and elating all of his senses. Though he hadn't used as much as he normally would. He had wanted to be mostly in control when he had that woman. Wanted to enjoy it as much as he possibly could, to fully feel the pleasure of being inside a woman. Feel the tightness around his skin, feel the wetness...though that had been a problem with that one. Still he had wanted to feel every sensation of nailing a nice piece of tail. Even if she was unwilling.

The point was for her to be an unwilling participant. When his doll had told him that she watched the news, he had kept it in mind. He was counting on her to make the connection from this look alike to herself. Maybe, just maybe she would revere him the next time they met. Though looking back, he felt he had made a hasty decision. There could have been other ways to get to her.

He shook his head, disgusted with himself. Rape had always seemed a petty crime to him. The lowest of the low. For the crummiest and the pettiest of criminals. He had wanted to be a classy villain. A new type of criminal. To be better than everyone else. And he was in every way except for that one aspect. Which to his dismay could not be helped. How long had it been since a woman had willingly succumb to him? Years.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. There was Amber, which was the closest to a real woman as he could get. And also the closest to, how to put this, a woman that would consent to and permit him to touch them. He had never really counted Amber as a willing volunteer. She wasn't in her right mind, and never had been. It had been so easy to twist her mind around his finger. She was just as unhinged as the men that he had pulled out of the Asylum that ranted about shadows and voices. Amber was no different from them. Just like her mentally ill companions, she too saw him as a savior. If it hadn't been for his cunning and his persuasiveness, she wouldn't have given in to his advances. It was still just like he was forcing her. Forcing her mind to think like that. So in that respect, no sane woman would surrender herself willingly.

Not even a hooker would turn tricks with him anymore. At first they had, before he had become...the Joker. Some found the scars almost distinguishing, sexy almost. Sometimes he told them that he had been a cop undercover and was found out. That really melted them, turned the heat up. How could they resist a veteran that had risked their lives like that? Others only demanded more pay; which he agreed to, seeing as how he was only going to kill them anyway.

Then his reputation became known, he became infamous. A wanted and dangerous criminal. A fugitive. Then even the filthy whores, those loose women of the night, had been repulsed by him. Fearful of him. That's when he had to start resorting to rape if he ever had to take that sexual edge off. And as for masturbating, well it wasn't the same. It was like having tickets to the Superbowl, but watching it on the television instead. It just didn't cut it for him. Besides...being your own lover too often leads to..._chaffing_.

He shook his head violently. _No_. Thoughts like that weren't allowed. He was never allowed to pity himself. Pity was unknown to him. He'd be damned if he was going to become familiar with it now. Just as he had before, he was going to simply go on. Forget everything else. Just push forward. The plan had already been set in motion, and he was going to continue with it.

He stood in the shower again, washing the blood and grime off of his skin. Letting the water clean his pores. The hard tiles doing very little to cushion his sore feet. Why in the hell there had been a shower in the warehouse, he didn't know. Nor did he care. He only knew that it was nice to use his own shower, and his own shampoo and soap. He did not like to deviate from his normal routine. He was very set in his ways.

It was a little amusing that only hours ago he had been painting his face, and now it was being washed down the drain. And again in the morning there would be fresh paint. His face back in place. _Hmmm_...how long ago had it been that he had started thinking of the makeup as his real face? He felt naked without it. He didn't feel like himself. When had that become normal? He couldn't remember, and it began to irritate him that he was even thinking like that. Reminiscing was for old couples or high school reunions. Enough of that.

It was as he was toweling off, that there came a sharp rap at the door. He frowned, a growl rumbling somewhere in his throat. Why was it that he needed to be interrupted right now? Right when he was in the middle of his own thoughts? "_What-tah_...is it," He demanded roughly.

There was a shaky intake of breath on the other side of the door. It was Eddy. He could tell. That slimy bastard did that same breath every time he approached Joker. Like the timid child addressing his abusive alcoholic father. It was annoying. He was a full grown man for fucks sake.

"They dumped the body just like you instructed." The feeble voice filtered through the thin particle board door. The voice sounded squeaky, and cracked in the middle of the sentence. It reminded him of the pathetic villain's sidekick persona that was in so many movies. The kind that would never have the balls or the brains to be the boss themselves, only following orders. But untrustworthy. The moment they felt that they needed to save their own skins, they would turn on you. They normally died an ironic death on the big screen. Somehow, he imagined that's how Eddy would die. And when it did happen, he was going to have a good laugh. A real good, long laugh.

He remained silent for a moment, waiting for the boss's okay to continue. Too uncertain of himself or of his boss's temper. The silence agitated Joker. He much preferred it when his men got straight to the point. Fear wasn't an excuse. They could wet their panties on someone else's time. Not his.

"And?" It came out harsher than he intended. But only slightly. He could not keep the annoyance out of his voice. Whether Eddy realized it was his distaste for him or not, he didn't know. However, he did seem to get that now was not the time to piss him off.

"I have good news," he started. Then he trailed off. Probably remembering the last time that sentence escaped his mouth. Joker had scolded him; his idea of good news and Eddy's were two very different things. Well...scolded was really an understatement. He had held a gun to Eddy's head. After smacking him around, threatening Eddy's family, and shoving an unlit cigarette down his throat. He probably had nearly killed the man then. Not that it would have been much of a loss. He could still remember the irritation and disgust in his stomach when Eddy had thrown up all over his shoes. Served him right for barging in and announcing that some little shit knew the identity of Batman; and that this was their chance to get him. Get the Batman, as he had put it. Of course Eddy couldn't have known that Joker had changed his mind, and now solely wanted to play with Batman, to break him. But still, he should have known better. There was only good news if the Joker said it was good news. And so here was Eddy, dreading the response that he was about to receive.

However, he was still somewhat in a good mood after his little romp in the...well as close to a bedroom as he could get. So, he did not say anything this time, and waited for Eddy to continue. The other man was breathing heavily, fearing reprimand for his mistake. Probably soiled his pants by now.

Joker was beginning to lose his patience, and cleared his throat, quite loudly. He could hear Eddy jump on the other side of the door, and he rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh...uh...I."

"Spit it out already!" _ I know you have trouble stringing a simple sentence together, but really?_ He drummed his fingers on the door for effect. He imagined Eddy was on the other side of the door trembling, ready to piss himself.

He blurted out quickly, "We might have found a place!" Labored breathing followed, like it had been painful to utter the sentence. Maybe he was afraid that somehow the Joker would bust through the wooden door to put him out of his misery.

Well! That was quick! Perhaps he did not give Eddy enough credit sometimes. A delighted smile spread across his face. "Well, that is good news." There was an audible sigh of relief. Joker could almost see Eddy wiping sweat away from his brow, trying to alleviate that anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach.

And his smile disappeared, a frown replacing it. That was one of his biggest pet peeves. Never let another man know that you're scared of him. You lose all respect. He forgot where he had heard that, not that it really mattered though. The fact of the matter was that it was true. And especially with himself, it served as an annoyance as well as a sign of weakness. It just reinforced his suspicions that Eddy was beneath him, scum on the bottom of his shoes. How many men had he killed that were just like Eddy, for the same reason he had killed Tony earlier in the night? Far too many to count.

Maybe if he had one of his knives with him, he would have stabbed Eddy through the door. Wood splintering and then becoming soaked and splattered with crimson blood. From the volume of his breathing, he could tell that he was standing close to the door. Not too close, indeed afraid of his Boss. Maybe he thought he would get a running start if Joker did come busting through the door. But he was still close enough. Yet, there was no knife around. Instead he acted interested and tried to ignore the ever growing urge to slit Eddy's throat. "Where?"

"Upper Gotham. Near the ritzy part of town." The smile returned to his face. Now that was even better news! Not only was that where Gordon and the Bat were expecting him not to be, but he could easily visit his doll. Do his own little case study on her. Take her apart piece by piece. See her inner workings and gears, kind of like a clock. A very complex clock...maybe a Swiss clock, or maybe German. In other words, something foreign to him. But he'd translate, he'd improvise like always. After all, his life was just like one big show.

Eddy really had come through for him this time. Maybe if he was still in a good mood tomorrow, he would give him a bonus of some sort. Maybe.

"Well...details man! Give me some details-ah!" His hands rubbed together in excitement and anticipation. He could not keep it out of his voice. Perhaps it seemed odd to anyone else that the clown had gone from deadly and agitated to jovial. Then again, Eddy would find it normal. Joker wasn't exactly what one would call...predictable. He never did know what to expect out of the psychotic clown. Though he was always surprised by his Boss's radical mood swings, he had learned not to dwell on it for too long.

"Gary mentioned it. Said he remembered seeing an ad for it in the paper. Turns out it's still in the paper. An old factory." He frowned yet again. So it was dumb luck that Eddy had stumbled upon it. Figures. "You're never gonna guess what they used to manufacture there." The thug smirked. The sound was like nails on chalkboard to him.

Joker raised an eyebrow, curiosity getting to him. "Oh?"

"Face paint used for theater."

A shrill laugh pierced through the small room, echoing horribly through the warehouses vents. The irony of it was too much! It was just too perfect, too funny. He couldn't have come up with a better joke himself.

"Well then, I think maybe you should arrange a meeting with the owners then."

* * *

As it turned out, the factory was perfect. More than perfect. If he could have made his ideal base, this would have been as close to ideal as possible. A dream come true for a villain. If dreams came true for villains at all. Villain...such a queer word. Maybe he would just start calling himself the _antihero_ instead. And there went his mind wandering off again. He brought his mind back to where it was supposed to be, and went back to admiring the place.

It was still a relatively new building too. Which meant that they wouldn't have to waste the time installing an air conditioning unit or anything else for that matter. The outside entrance to the office had been freshly painted, and someone had taken the time to do some minor landscaping. It was in essence brand new. Squeaky clean, so as not to draw unwanted attention. Always a plus.

Unfortunately for the owners, a few years after they had invested all that time and money the market had started going to shit. The economy was in a downward spiral. Nobody had the need for their product. Not when gas prices had driven everything else so sky high. So they had to shut their doors like so many other businesses across the country. New and old alike.

Fortunately for Joker and his crew, it was exactly what he was looking for. Fortunate for the owners as well. They were going to be one of the lucky few that were actually able to sell their buildings and get out from under the overhead. Maybe not get out of debt, but certainly they wouldn't have that hanging over their heads like death.

The inside still held few pieces of machinery, the rest of which had been removed to ship to other bigger factories that were still in business. That would have brought them in a small profit. The bulky giants that were left were covered in a thin layer of dust from lack of use in the past few months. Other than that, the place was spotless. Seems that the owners had been really keeping up on the place.

Eddy had arranged their meeting for early in the morning. Before anyone else had crawled out of bed, he and the Joker were being led on a tour by an elderly foreigner with a thick accent. He imagined that the man had not been in the states that long. At the very least not enough to corrupt him and break his spirit. He had taken one look at the Joker when they had first entered the building. Due to obvious reasons, he was in what he considered civilian attire. Casual clothes, and a scarf pulled high to cover his scars. Eddy had explained that his boss had a horrible case of the flu, and was trying to keep from spreading it around. The old man had nodded his head once, and then gestured for them to follow. No second glances. No questions. Just a polite nod of the head, and on with business.

Either he was smart enough to not ask questions, or too clueless to ask questions. Either way, it was a good thing for Eddy and the Joker.

During most of the walk-through, Joker tuned out to the old man's rambling. Most of it was incoherent anyway, the words distorted severely from his accent. Every once in a while, he would laugh boisterously at what Joker figured was a joke he had just told. Eddy would smile and laugh nervously, and turn to look at the Joker. He was obviously as confused as he was, as he shrugged his shoulders. Damned if either of them knew what the old fool was saying. And for once, he and Eddy seemed to be on the same page.

The factory was much bigger than their current headquarters. Of course it had to be, it wasn't just a holding facility. The place had to be big enough to fit all the random machinery.

As the old man led them down a hallway, there came an abrupt change. Joker felt his eyebrow raise, curiosity filling him. The smooth new tiles and concrete walls turned to old and faded wooden planks and yellowed drywall. There was a musty smell, like something very old and ancient. It was a stark contrast from the new paint smell and the cleanliness of the rest of the plant. This area reminded of an old western movie...or perhaps of a horror film.

Eddy was more oblivious than Joker had been, and did not notice the change for a few moments. When he did, he grabbed the foreigners sleeve. "Hey, uh...what's up with this?" He gestured in a wide movement at the walls and the creaking floor boards.

"I'm sorry. Pardon?"

It took a bit of restraint for Joker not to put his face in his hands in dismay. The poor man's English was broken enough as it was, and obviously had trouble understanding them. Leave it to Eddy to speak an obscure sentence. He sighed heavily and answered for Eddy before he made a further ass of himself.

"What my friend is trying to say here, is why does this section seem older than the rest of the building?" It was ridiculously difficult for him to keep the annoyance out of his tone. It felt unnatural to him. _Awkward._

The old man laughed cheerfully. He shook his head, "Oy! Forgive please. I forget to mention to you eh?"

He only nodded, smiling behind his scarf. Eddy smiled awkwardly for appearance. Joker could tell from Eddy's eyes that we was beginning to become annoyed with the man. No patience. Another less than favorable virtues of Eddy's. And yet another reason for Joker to loath the disgusting Italian.

The owner seemed not to have noticed and turned a dim red from slight embarrassment. "Factory was...how you say...an addition?" The clown nodded, and gestured for him to continue. "Was an old farmhouse. My family built on to original building. Family owned business. We figure live here, no drive." He chuckled, and Eddy joined in hesitantly.

"You live here," Joker asked tentatively. There would be a big problem if that was the case.

"No, no, no. Used to. We move. Time to cut loss." He received a curt nod for a reply. Joker remaining detached as usual.

Eddy turned to his boss, "Well boss, want to see the rest?" The tone was not inquisitive...it was agitated. Looking for an excuse to leave. He saw Eddy shift uncomfortably. He also noted how his eyes kept darting back the way they came, anxious to leave. He ignored it.

Instead, he nodded. If this was going to be their new...base; he wanted to see all of it. Know where he was going to be laying his head down at night. Eddy's discomfort was no concern of his. In fact, it was actually quite pleasant to him. Watching Eddy squirm like a rebellious teenager stuck in a nursing home with Alzheimer patients. He resisted the urge to smirk.

He was not disappointed as they entered what had once been living quarters for a farmer's family over 100 years ago. The small hallway opened up into large landing, and they stood facing three oak doors. Each was it's own respectable bedroom.

The first room they entered must have been the master suite, it seemed much too large to be anything else. The age of the house showed in the walls, the floor, the windows...everywhere. Still, it was quite habitable and an unexpected, but pleasant surprise. And it had a nice rustic feel to it. His gaze wandered up to the ceiling looking for leaks. None, but he did see the original crown molding of the place still intact. It was a very nice bedroom, much nicer than he was used to.

He would be able to bring a real bed in here instead of that stained mattress that he had used for so long. How nice it would be not to sleep so close to the floor. And to have a closet.

As he paced the room, he saw that there was a door that led to a small cramped bathroom. It may have been cramped, but it would definitely beat going for days without showering. Or having to share a toilet with fifty other men. He did go in and inspect the plumbing to make sure it was up to date. It passed inspection.

The foreigner informed them that the other rooms were smaller replicas of the main bedroom, without the bathroom. Joker nodded, and let the man lead them down an old brass spiral staircase. Downstairs was nothing extraordinary either. Some woman, whether the foreigners wife or someone before her time, had plastered floral wall paper to the dining room walls. There was also an old parlor, and what Joker could only guess was a study. It went through his mind fleetingly, that one of the rooms would make for a good control room. He envisioned several monitors displaying feed from several security cameras. Could never be too careful in his line of work.

He did not pay much attention to the rest of the tour until the older man spoke, "Come come. Let me show you cellar!" He said the sentence as though he had been saving the best for last, a big surprise awaiting them down below.

Eddy looked back to the Joker, frustration showing on his face. He had not expected this to take so long. _Fuck Eddy._

He followed him in to the cellar, down the steep stairs silently. Nothing special. Just a plain dank room, with dirt walls. Big deal. But then the man opened a door that Joker had not noticed when they had first entered the room. It had been too dark to make out. The man called to him again and beckoned them to follow.

As they entered the large...cavern, Joker could feel his grin almost peeking above the scarf. There underneath the factory, and the house, was a warehouse. The foreigner explained that it had formerly been housing for slaves. Hell, it must have been just as large as their current warehouse, if not bigger. And stacked against one of the dark walls, were boxes of merchandise. Boxes of face paint.

That sealed the deal. This place was meant to be his.

Hell, he could even keep the crazies down here. They would cause much less trouble that way. It was, as he had thought before, perfect.

Joker leaned close to Eddy and whispered, "Tell him to throw in the merchandise, and we'll add 30 grand to the asking price. We'll pay cash, and sign the papers on Monday."

* * *

_So the Joker is up to his usual cruel antics. As he tends to go all out in trying to break people down, I thought it would be appropriate for him to try to scare our mystery girl. His plan to do this is to abduct women that look similar to her. His goal is that she will be intimidated by this and be easier for him to tear down._

_I know the factory bit is kind of a stretch, okay it would probably never happen in real life. But it is fiction after all. I liked this better than the cliche of Joker being holed up in an abondoned amusement park. The factory being built onto a house is also a bit more believable than bedrooms, kitchen, etc in a warehouse. Now that doesn't make much sense to me. My father worked in several different warehouses, and there wasn't much besides some offices and break rooms. I'm sure you could convert a warehouse, but Joker doesn't scream the remodeling type to me._


	8. Missing

_I took this chapter off of the end of the last chapter, so it's incredibly short. I just didn't feel like it belonged in the last one, or that it belonged at the beginning of the next chapter._

**_All work and no play, make Jack a dull boy._**

_Ooohhh. You want to play. Come on!_

* * *

Who was it that had said it's always darkest before dawn? A doctor? A philosopher? Or a _moron_?

The forlorn ambiance had never seemed to lift from the city. And in fact if at all possible, Gotham seemed more somber and bleak than normal. Of course, it was to be expected in a big urban city like this. Still even through the crime and the poverty, the tension was much higher than normal. The real estate market had suddenly plunged, property value spiraling downwards. Most realtors couldn't make a sell without dropping to a ridiculously low price. It seemed that Gotham's misfortune had spread through the media outlet. No one wanted to live in a city where any day they could be blown to pieces or carved up by a deranged, psychotic clown. Or for the seedy people, risk running into an equally frightening man. One of the headlines had called him "_Soldier of the Night_." The masked vigilante with piercing eyes that could break a man's soul.

The Batman.

When he had first come to Gotham, everything had been great. Justice was served, however cruel it was served. But still criminals had gotten what they deserved. They feared him, and rightly so. And with that fear, the crime rate had dropped, no, plummeted. Everyone too terrified to be caught and roughed up, then thrown into the slammer. Even the mob had stirred. The mob, who ran the whole damn city. Even if everyone turned their heads and pretended it wasn't so, but every single citizen knew it. It was part of living in Gotham. Everyone answered to the mafia.

Then everyone answered to the Joker.

Still answered to the Joker. Since GPD had failed to take him into custody again. And still no leads on him. The whole force wouldn't be surprised if they found out that the Joker was the devil himself. Instead of horns, those awful scars spanning his face. His pitchfork, the Joker card.

Then all that hard work went to waste. The lawless that Batman had beat into submission, and delivered to the hands of the law, were once again free to roam the streets. All those men that Harvey Dent and Rachel Dawes had fought to put behind bars, were mocking their memory. And the mob had risen to power once again, the second only to the Joker. He had achieved what he had wanted...total chaos. So why was it that he was still here? It evaded the mind of all the Gothamites.

So those who had the money had packed everything they owned and left. Some had just fled without looking back, possessions not worth risking their lives. Even some of the homeless had migrated to different cities.

The population started to decrease, within just a few days time. It was absurd. Gotham had once been a big tourist attraction, now it couldn't even keep it's own inhabitants. Those that had stayed were either crazy, or lacked the funding to leave. And they had almost stopped leaving their homes altogether. If they did, it was during the day. The only ones who seemed unphased by all of this was Gotham's upper class. Something about having money made them think they were invulnerable.

Inside of the Major Crimes Unit it was hectic, in stark contrast to the streets which were mostly bare. The busy bodies moving to and fro, following commands, following leads. Hustling inmates to cells or interrogation rooms. Rushing papers to superiors. Those that were left, the majority of Jim's men were merged with county until the local sanction was rebuilt. It was a madhouse. And even that phrase didn't do it justice. Maybe an illustration of headless chickens running around would be better. Or of mice scurrying around in a maze. The whole entire precinct was buzzing with activity. There might as well have been a fire burning down the building. And on top of all that, they had contractors and construction workers scurrying around the building working on clean up.

So busy...except for one room. One office in the bowels of the precinct, the door closed, and the lights off. Papers strewn about the desk, phone off the hook. Dust collected lazily on the blinds that were closed tightly If it wasn't for the fact that the storm had never lifted, maybe some light would have filtered into the cluttered office. As it was, the only light that lit the room was the pale blue of a television screen, the volume turned down to a low mumble.

A picture of a pretty brunette was displayed, with the headline Missing Woman, scrolling across the bottom of the screen. There was a voice off screen, a reporter talking in the back ground. "_24 year old Sara Marshall has been missing since last Wednesday. She was last seen leaving a restaurant Tuesday night around 11:15. Witnesses say she left by herself and was wearing a white shirt and black pants. If you have any information on the whereabouts of Sara please contact Gotham Police Department at..."_

Abruptly the screen went blank and there was a heavy sigh from behind the desk. There sitting in the dark was Commissioner Gordon. His head in his hands, rubbing his temples. A painful headache pulsing behind his eyes. The bitter and weak coffee did little to help. The caffeine didn't even weaken the headache at all. The fatigue was really starting to get to him. He hadn't been home since the night that Joker had escaped. Sleep consisted of ten minute naps that only happened when his eyes were too tired to look at the paperwork in front of him. The words would become fuzzy and run together. And just as his eyes shut as he sat upright in his chair, the shrill alarm of the phone would wake him. The aroma that entered his nostrils could only come from a man who hadn't showered in days.

It was evident in the dark rings underneath his eyes. He looked dull and sullen. His cheekbones shrunk in ever so slightly. The only food he had managed to consume was a few donuts here and there that the officers had brought into the rec room. He rubbed his chin, a little bit of an itch making itself known. He could feel the stubble there from his now far past 5:00 shadow.

His eyes drifted back up to the darkened screen. Another girl missing. Not that missing people were uncommon in Gotham, or in the United States for that matter, but a lot of young girls had gone missing recently. All brunettes. None had been found. Gordon had a sinking feeling in his gut that they probably wouldn't be found, at least not alive. The disappearances couldn't exactly be connected to the Joker. Not directly. But the crime rate had increased since he had shown up in the city. So one way or another it did lead back to him. If only Gordon had a lead of some sort. It didn't help that, of course, he hadn't had the time to continue his plans to interrogate the members on the force. They had been so short staffed lately.

To top everything off, there had been no news on Batman. He had thought with the Joker still being loose, sightings of Batman would have gone up. The whole entire force had expected frantic 911 calls, since he had become a fugitive. The exact opposite had happened. There hadn't been any sightings of the Bat for the past week. Of course that could have been because people were not leaving their homes. Then again, there had been no criminals anonymously delivered to the PD's door recently.

Gordon was hoping, no praying, that the Batman had not hung up his cape for good. Not when Gotham needed him the most.

* * *

_So there ya go, sorry it's another filler chapter. But I feel that without this the story would lack some structure. And that is what I'm going for, not just a fanfic, but a good well written story._

_I promise I will give you guys some more of the girl in the next few chapters, and get to know some good stuff on Joker's past (well my random take on it anyway). _

_**Psyche444-** I'm glad that you enjoyed the dialogue. Even though Eddy is my own character, I dislike him so much and I really enjoy making him nervous lol. _

_**forgetmenotflowers- **Thanks so much! I always like knowing that others enjoy my writing._

_**iwishtheskywasgreen- **Thanks for the review!_

_**funny-kitty- **I have several chapters written, and most certainly plan to continue. Also "doll" will continue to be a very strong character throughout the story. I can absolutely promise you that she will never cry in this fic. Though she has what would be consider a tragic past, it's not going to be anything sappy. We all know that Joker would never go for that.  
_


	9. Deceptive

_An Authors Note to all readers...**Please read before story**. I mentioned this once earlier, but I think it bears a repeat. If the Joker does anything that would seem out of character, please bare with me. There is a point to the madness. Later on it will be revealed why, a very crucial part of the story. Also these next few chapters will be a little random in the way of time line. It is important to know that since this story is mainly from two canon characters point of view, things will clash a little. I try to make things go in order, but for these I purposely scrambled the events. A semi-important event happens. So think of this as memories. The characters are looking back on the events, and as we all know real memories can sometimes be jumbled. So don't be alarmed if things don't seem to make sense right away. It will all tie together, I promise!_

_Also, for those who don't realize this, the whole tone of this story will always be kind of dark and depressing. It's kind of a morbid foreboding story dabbling slightly in cynical humor and a very disturbing romance. So no Mary Sue crap, and no Joker turns good. :)_

* * *

**_Sometimes the straightest line is not always the fastest way there_**

_Never start with the head, the victim gets all fuzzy_.

* * *

Today seemed out of place. Like it didn't belong. A unicorn in a field of cows. Diamond in the rough.

Today, the sun was peeking out from behind the ominous clouds. Today, there was no rain.

Today Jim Gordon would get to see his family for the first time in a week and a half. He would get to stand in the hot steamy water of his own shower, shave that horrible mess of facial hair that had started growing out of control. He'd be able to peel these awful filthy clothes off, and feel clean fabric against his skin. Most importantly, he would get to see Barbara and their children. He would get to hold Barbara in his arms, clutch her tightly to his chest and tell her that everything was going to be alright. As much for his own reassurance as hers.

Then he'd take a long awaited nap. Maybe an eight hour nap. And maybe Barbara would cook a nice hot meal for him. God, he was so sick of cold pizza and stale donuts. And that god forsaken coffee. He had never had anything so vile in his life. It was no wonder that officers that got stuck in a desk job were so crabby all the time. Now he understood. He'd have to do something about that in the future.

As it had been for quite some time, the department was just as lost when it came to the Joker as always. Jim had clung on to the small hope that with the Joker's face all over national news, someone would have come forth with some sort of information. Maybe even a prison calling him about an escaped convict. There hadn't even been a relative. _Zip_. Gordon was just about to give up on the fiends past and just concentrate on the present. Just about, but being the determined cop that he was; he had decided to give it a little more time.

He had finally been able to get a little bit of work done, and he had made some headway on his plans for investigation within the department. The mayor was even giving him full support and funding now. _Anything we can use to find the bastard,_ he had said. Jim had been a little baffled at his language...it had been out of character for the mayor. Then again nothing really was pleasant when it came to him. Him of course being the devil known as the Joker.

The calls were starting to die down now, no new information coming in. Joker had been quiet for a little bit. No bank jobs, no murders. It was only a matter of time though. He was a shark lurking beneath the waters waiting for a swimmer senseless enough to swim out to his depth. And the people of Gotham would do just that. It would stay tranquil a little while longer, and they would be lulled into a false sense of security. Then he'd strike, jaws biting deep into Gotham's already shaky foundation.

The reporters had finally relented. They had tried for so long to squeeze some drop of propaganda out of a dry source. The expression like beating a dead horse, came to mind. Now they had other things to focus on, like all the missing persons.

Missing _women_ to be more precise. All those brunettes. Well, some of them had black hair. And other than that fact, there seemed to be no other connection between them. Friends, relatives, coworkers, none of them had any inkling to what the connection could possibly be. They were all so shocked. _How could it have happened to them? She was such a good girl. Not a bad bone in her body_. It was the same with every single one of them. None of the families had even heard of the other victims until they saw their missing picture in the supermarket or blown up on their television screens. Not one little measly link. They could have lived their whole lives out in Gotham and never have met each other.

A few of the women had been found. Well, at least their bodies had been found. What was left of some of them. And that's what had really baffled the police and CSI. There wasn't even a link between the bodies that they had found. One had been shot in the back of the head. Another had been gutted. One even had a crude J carved into her back, the edges so rough it looked like it had been done with a coat hanger. None of the the girls had died in the same way. The only familiarity between all the cases was the rape kits. All the samples had proven to be from the same man. The semen wasn't always in the same place. One particular one, it had been found in the rectum. Which made Jim shudder at the thought. Not only a woman being taken against her will, but it that particular fashion. It was sick. Hell, there was even a few where the residue had been found in the oral cavity.

It really was maddening to Jim. Here he was trying to find the most dangerous man alive, as far as Jim was concerned. And now there was obviously some serial killer rapist on the loose. Though he really couldn't prove it, nor did he have the evidence, Jim wanted so desperately to point the finger to the Joker. It only seemed right and justified. But he had to remind himself that recently he had wanted to blame every little crime on the Joker, just wanting to find some sort of lead on him. It was only a natural response to everything that had happened.

But...damn that eerie J that had been drawn into that girl's flesh. Who else could have done it? Then again, this didn't seem similar to any of the Joker's other work. Maybe that was the point. They couldn't become to familiar with what he did and didn't do, because he simply kept changing how he did things. Maybe he really didn't have a plan. He was just a crazy maniac that did as he pleased. Did anything he could to rattle any other human being. And if it wasn't him, then they had some sicko out there paying homage to an even sicker man. If only he could just string the pieces together and understand what was happening to this city.

It was a thought that passed through his mind at least twenty times a day. With every new case that came in that even seemed remotely reminded him of the Joker, that little sentence went through his mind. And every time, it almost made him feel Batman would just come to him. Help him solve the problem. But he didn't, and Gordon wasn't sure that he was even going to return. Not with the city willingly throwing him away as an outcast. And that brought Gordon's already nearly broken spirit down even lower.

He had confessed this to the mayor during a one on one meeting. The mayor had extended a personal invitation to Gordon in the hopes that the Commissioner had made some sort of progress on the case. And Gordon had told him of his fears and doubts about this one. Not so much the batman part, that he would have to keep to himself. But they instead discussed how the Joker just kept slipping through their fingers. He was beginning to worry that it had been a lost cause. That was when Garcia had granted him the funding on his project. _"I want the bastard brought to justice too Commissioner. And we are going to be the one's to do it! We have to make a stand now."_ He had gestured out the window. _"All those people are scared shitless right now. They think we let them down. And somewhere along the lines, we did. Somehow we let this sicko get past us and into the city. It's up to us to make this right. We're going to take him out."_

Then he had sent Jim on mandatory leave for two days. He had said something along the lines of, we need you to be at the top of your game for this. Though Jim had protested and offered to stay in a hotel to get rest, Garcia insisted. Had said he looked like death warmed over. Jim had protested just a little bit more, halfheartedly, ready to give in. _"It's darkest before dawn commissioner, we did you ready for the darkest part."_

And that was why it didn't make sense that today he could see the sun. Only two days ago the storms had been unrelenting. One of the saddest days in his life. He had felt like after that day, the rain would never let up. That there were only bad days around the corner, no happy ones in sight. Gravely, he had shook his head as he watched the caskets lowered into the ground.

His skin had been just as drenched as his suit. Those hovering clouds, that seemed to fill everyone with depression. It wasn't just him.

The mayor could not seem to lift his head, and he looked like such a hopeless figure holding the umbrella while water cascaded off the edges in torrents.

Bruce Wayne had been there, his butler holding an umbrella for the both of them. Jim had found it odd that he was there. Well, in truth he had been close friends to Ms. Dawes and that could have been his reasoning. But it really had been unexpected to see a rich party boy like him at such a somber event. Gordon had thought that maybe he wasn't as insensitive as he would everyone believe. And he almost expected to see a tear rolling down the playboys cheek. But instead he stood rigid with a grave expression on his normally youthful face. Taking the death of a friend and her boyfriend so seriously. And he wandered just how differently he would have reacted to hear of how Dent really had died. What he really had stood for the night of his death.

He was a symbol of loss, and the Joker winning.

* * *

_Harvey Dent_. Little pretty boy, Defense Attorney, Harvey Two-Face Dent. Proof that even the noblest of men could be brought down to his level. He wondered to himself what all those people standing out there in the rain would think if they knew the truth. That all men were corrupt...even precious little Harvey Dent.

All those forlorn faces in the sea of black. The sky pouring it's load on all of them. The only person speaking, the priest mumbling blessings over the bodies as they were laid to rest in a monotonous tone. At least he imagined it was a monotonous tone. That was the thing about binoculars...they didn't help you hear any better. Just see.

And that was all he needed really, sitting across the street, parked atop a hill in the black SUV. He could just make out the faces of all those who had bothered to attend. He was a little surprised at how few people were there. He had expected a far greater crowd to pay their respects to the deceased D.A. and the late female Assistant Defense Attorney. The only thing he figured was that those who weren't there, were expecting some sort of terrorist attack on the funeral in progress. That was ridiculous.

Even if he truly wanted to he wouldn't have. That was within bad taste. He was better than that. After all, he was a classy villain...no classy _antihero_. My how that had a much nicer ring to it. Though this wouldn't have been the first funeral he had crashed, there was no point in killing anyone down there this time. He had already achieved his goal, and brought Harvey down to his level. Anything more now from him would be beating a dead horse.

He had come alone at the spur of the moment. Curious to see the reaction to Dent's death. To see how much despair was written on their faces, gauge how much farther he would have to push them before they reached their breaking point.

He rolled his eyes dramatically when he say the men donned in kilts began to play their bagpipes. Probably some melancholy version of Amazing Grace. Such a bore. In fact, he was glad that he did not have any audio. The sound of bagpipes with all their screeching and whining, droning tones were like nails on chalk board to him. And now he had to suppress the urge to storm down the hill and stab the pathetic excuse for an instrument until it was nothing more than a deflated, mess of fabric and metal. What a scene that would have made. He laughed inwardly at the thought of the reaction that he would have received.

He had expected the Mayor and Gordon to be there. There was however a few faces that he was surprised to see. Wayne being one of them. He figured the fool would have left town by now. He couldn't say he'd ever meant the man in person, but from what he had seen in the media, Wayne had seemed the type to run away with his tail between his legs. Maybe he was a little more defiant than he thought, or stupider. Either way, the young man standing there with pursed lips was a striking difference to the man he had seen in the news. Come to think of it, maybe he was just there for appearances. It certainly would make him look like a bastard if he didn't show up for the funeral of the man he had thrown a fundraiser for.

One of the attendees wiped their face with their sleeve, as the caskets were laid into the ground. Hiding tears from the rest of them, he laughed out loud at it. Oh if any of those people new how Harvey had become a monster! That they were all just like him!

He looked back to the funeral to scan the faces of the others. To see their reactions. He just had to drink all of it in.

Then, there had been a glimpse of black hair. And then someone had stepped in front of her. It had only been a glimpse, but he had been sure that she was familiar. Whomever had stepped in front of her, engaged her in conversation. Or as much of one as one could make at an event like this.

He felt himself become irritated almost immediately. His tolerance levels were awful low today, what with the moving and such. "Come on...come on." He motioned with his hand at the man, forgetting that he couldn't see him. "Move...move!" At that moment, he almost had half a mind to go down there and move the man himself. It's bad taste, he had to remind himself.

When he finally had moved, Joker's eyes lit up with expectation. He was more than a little dismayed when he realized that the woman had turned her back to him. Only the back of her head showed. "Damn...it-tah." He began to tap his foot in annoyance, trying to keep himself calm. Bad taste...he couldn't go down there. Not this time.

After what seemed like a lot longer than two minutes, she finally turned around to leave. And then he recognized the expressionless face. The one that could only belong to his doll. She walked with such a grace among the crowd that he would never have thought that she had just come from a funeral. It became apparent that she had come alone, as no one followed her or walked along side her. And even though the downpour was relentless, she had not brought an umbrella. Something that the Joker found very odd indeed. And from the looks that she got from the other passerbys, they found her odd too. She was a sight. The black suit jacket that she wore with her knee length skirt, that looked like it cost more than most people make in a week. Her hair was pulled tightly away from her face in a bun, except for the few strands that had been washed loose from the rain. There she walked with her head held high, an important air about her, her heels sinking into the mud. And yet she still looked dignified, despite her rain soaked apparel and the water streaming down the side of her face. It was almost as if she didn't even notice it, oblivious to how cold and numb her body must be. Wasn't that what people's parents warned them about when they were young? You'd catch pneumonia if you stood in the rain? It amused him.

Then he started to wonder what had earned her an the right to attend Harvey's funeral. From what he could tell, only Gotham's most important...or richest, were there. What reason could she possibly have had for being there? And how in the hell had he missed her if she was so important? Maybe she really didn't like the press as she had told him. That certainly would explain why he hadn't heard a damn thing about her. _Who the hell is this woman?_

His eyes continued to follow her as she made her way through the crowd. Another man stopped her to engage in conversation. It would appear she was a little popular.

He knew he had to find out. Not knowing would certainly drive him mad, just as not know Batman's identity had in the beginning. Not that he knew it now, the rules of the game had just changed. The priority had became making the hero fall down to his level. Just as the game was with Gordon and the rest of Gotham. Oh but it would be the sweetest victory when Batman himself fell from glory.

But with her...it had been a different kind of challenge. Oh sure he would corrupt her, but she wasn't like anyone else he had ever met. He had never meet another human being, like her. She held no fear of death, or pain. No, with this one he was going to have to really get inside her head. See how her mind worked first. He just could not understand how she had stayed beneath his radar for so long. It tugged at the back of his mind that it was bizarre that she had become part of the plan so quickly. Then again...she was so unique that he couldn't help himself. From the moment that she had disregarded him in her own home, he knew something wasn't quite right. And he could not help but be curious about what it was that she was hiding.

And you know they say, curiosity killed the cat.

* * *

When he had thought of that expression, he had certainly not meant a literal cat. And yet, after he picked at the lock for the second time the first thing he saw were the curious green eyes of some breed of feline he couldn't place. A bizarre looking one with short silver fur, with black spots. Almost like a cheetah. Lines of onyx adorned its legs and tail. This was...he didn't even know what the hell to call it. It was like a miniature version of some wild cat. It hadn't even moved, it simply sat there and stared at him. It was odd, he almost felt as if the ball of fur was judging him. Asking him why he had broken into the penthouse, with those big gooseberry green eyes.

Funny, that's how it had been with her too.

"Don't you judge me," he said awkwardly to the cat. He almost felt rather stupid as the the small animal tilted it's head to the side, almost mocking him. "I'm just visiting." Since when had the Joker become senile enough to talk to animals? At the very least, he was not insane enough to talk to inanimate objects. Unlike his counterparts that were hidden in the basement of the new base.

There was a soft meow, then the cat turned from him and walked away. Just like that, almost an insult. Now that was stupid. It was a damn cat.

It was odd, the whole entire time he was here before he could not once remember seeing a cat. Or anything that would even hint that one lived there. He shook his head, had he overlooked that before?

Surely not. He had been very thorough in his search of the home. He always was...and there was simply no way that he was losing his touch. Either the cat was a recent addition, or the damn thing was very good at hiding. For some reason or another, it frustrated him. A low growl emitted from his throat, if he had found the cat before.

It told him so much. Just her owning that fucking cat. It told him something very important, something that he could have used earlier. Damnit, if only he had known before! His gloved hand clenched tightly into a fist, angry with himself.

With a scowl, he slammed the heavy door closed. God, it was just so...so fucking irritating. He should have figured it out before. Then again there hadn't even been so much as a toy, or a picture of the cat. So it was her fault! Her damn fault that he had missed that little tidbit in his assessment of her. He found himself ready to strangle her as soon as she came through the door. Had she done this on purpose? Hid a secret from him?

No matter what...that teeny tiny little thing could have helped him so much. The thing was...those people who didn't have anyone in their lives, it's normally because they push other people away. Are afraid or simply cannot function within a relationship. A loner, the do-it themselfers. I don't need anyone else type of attitude. Being alone brought so much more comfort to them, made it easier. That's what type of person he had her pegged as.

But there was a small percentage of that group, that stood out from the rest. They weren't afraid or unable to maintain a personal connection. They were alone because they were hiding something, something that could potentially ruin someone's life or endanger someone or themselves. That's how it normally went anyway. And that small percentage...generally had some sort of animal...some sort of pet living with them.

It was because they couldn't stand to be entirely alone. Couldn't bare the loneliness. The pet enabled them to interact with something living, served as a friend. Most times that person would even tell their deepest darkest secret to their furry friend, the listening party unable to ever reveal it. It seemed to make sense now. She let him stay instead of killing him, just so that she didn't have to deal with the press. Definitely hiding something big. Damnit, how had he not figured this out before? Fucking hell.

If he had only known this before, he could have used it against her. Used that knowledge to dig into her psyche and break down her wall of defense. Tear into her weak spot, like a feral dog tearing at the heel of the mailman. The thing about people, once you reveal their imperfections, they start to lose their stamina. Start to crumble right in front of you, become unsure of themselves. They lose their confidence and start to make mistakes. And that was exactly what she was going to do, once he started exploiting her.

He purposely plopped himself down on the couch, his arms spread across the back and his head leaned back. Damn, how he did love her furniture. It was so comfortable. Much more so than he had become accustomed to in recent years. Hell he was even lucky to have a chair or a bed at most times. It was nice to have those small comforts every once in a while. How much nicer it felt on his spine and the muscles in his neck.

There came a small noise from the animal from somewhere in the penthouse. It sounded far off and muffled. Other than that, he did not see or hear the thing again. And all that was left to do was wait.

* * *

_So I kind of took liberties with Harvey's funeral here. I remember that they held some sort of memorial where Gordon spoke, in this fic I'm seeing that as more as for press purposes; and then they had an actual funeral afterwards. It is an AU afterall. :)_

_Also, and guesses on mystery woman yet? I think you all will be surprised_.

_**Forgetmenotflowers-** Thanks again for your review! I'm glad you like the detail. I actually had to split this chapter up since I got so carried away with it!_

**_Kdhanson- _**_Glad you are liking her so far. __I plan to keep her like this during the whole fic._

_**Psyche444-** Thanks! It's good to know that others are enjoying my imagination. _


	10. Dreary Days

_Okay, it's kind of short. At least it's an update! Remember the time line is a little askew in this chapter. These are Joker's and Gordon's memories of events that lead up to a semi-important part of the story. We are continuing with one of Jim's memories from the funeral._

**_Stop and smell the roses_**

_We really should stop fighting, we'll miss the fireworks!_

* * *

The rain had been pelting them all that day. Especially so with Jim. A wind came in from the West, and grew stronger as the afternoon progressed. And as luck would have it, it blew the biting cold rain directly into Jim's face and glasses. Though he could barely see through the droplets on the lens, he did not wipe them away. Instead he stood tall, with his chin up. Pretending to stay strong in the face of this tragedy. Pretending that he was none the wiser on what had actually transpired. He supposed if a book had been written, it would have been called Oblivious Tragedy.

It was difficult to say the least. Everyone thought he was a hero. In truth he had been no more a hero the Wuertz or Ramirez. Bent to the Joker's will, succumb to his mind games. Dent was after all, only human. Just like the rest of them.

And that brought a very sobering thought to Gordon.

The man that he had turned to, that the whole city had turned to at one time. The one who was their only hope during their peril, the caped crusader. Jim had always thought of him as superhuman. Perhaps because of the mask, or because he was so good at what he did. Or perhaps it was simply because he fought for them, fought for justice. Just like the costumed men and women drawn brightly and vibrantly in the comic books he had read as a child. In those pages the heroes cheated death time and time again. Their morality seemed unwavering, unmoving in their sense of right and wrong. And that was how Gordon had always thought of their very own vigilante.

But to quote himself, he was in fact, only human.

That fact was very disheartening. And he prayed to whomever it was that was up there, that Batman had the strength to go on. The stamina to continue fighting for Gotham.

Though the Force had held a memorial service for Dent themselves, the mayor and Gordon had thought it would be a good idea to hold a proper service for the attorneys. A public farewell, so that all the citizens of Gotham would have a chance to say their goodbyes. The turnout was less than they had hoped, but what they had expected. With the mad man known as the Joker still on the loose, most had paid their respects from their living rooms, the funeral being televised. That had been Gordon's idea, so that the city would know that at the very least, the Mayor and himself would not back down from this terrorist.

It seemed that the only people who had the decency or were brave enough were the politics, and the trust fund brigade. Most of the procession had been made up of various friends and acquaintances of Wayne. Most likely there for show as most of the them had been for his little fundraiser that he had thrown earlier in the month.

There was a deafening sound in his ears as the barrage of rifle shots sounded. A military salute for Gotham's district attorney.

The atmosphere was so solemn. As it should have been, no one would have thought otherwise.

He held back a sigh of dismay. It was true that he could not tell anyone what he really knew, but that didn't make it any easier.

It certainly was not an easy task at all when Mayor Garcia had given the order to destroy the flood light on top of MCU. The rain had been just as heavy that night as it was now. Drenching them all to the bone as he hacked the flood light to pieces with the axe. Glass shards spraying the wet concrete. Gordon had felt that he was shattering his own hopes and dreams.

* * *

All the precipitation had made the moving process agonizingly slow. Painfully slow, and the Joker was not known for being patient. His view was slightly obscured by the door, as he hid in the shadows. Doing his best to remain out of view. As he had been for the last several days. It was not in his nature to remain behind the scenes, and he felt himself growing weary of the serenity that he was being forced to endure. Although he was not really being forced into it, it felt appropriate. He had Gotham on it's toes right now, _that_ felt so good. He knew their spirits were breaking as they anticipated his next appearance. Eventually they would think he had gone for good, then he'd make his grand reappearance. He felt that the damage would be all the more potent if he let them start to feel a little safe again. Never underestimate the power of terror and fear.

Yet now, he felt so damn bored as he stood there tapping his foot out of habit. He was sure it made him look like a nervous crazy, but then again maybe that was good for his boys. Something about having an insane employer kept the employees well behaved. Quite well behaved, especially since his last outburst. A slight smile appeared on his lips as he licked the inside of his scars.

The boys were currently outside, dressed as civilians. Actually dressed in moving men attire, while they loaded another truck with more gear. So far they had only moved what came out of their living quarters. It had been part of the plan, in case someone decided to do some unwanted investigating. Such as kids breaking in, in the middle of the night. As they were prone to do to impress their respective cliques. So as of that moment, there was nothing personal that could tie the Joker and his men to this warehouse. Not any of his custom clothing, his knives, or any of his men's belongings.

So now they were loading the weaponry and the piles of money crammed into duffel bags, into the back of the moving vans. There was a flash, lightening tearing through the sky. Silently, he wondered when the hell this weather was going to let up. Not that he didn't like it, actually he preferred it. It was just unusual, the clouds and the rain lingering around so long. The only reprieve they had had, only lasted a day. A few days after the funeral. Then it had gone right back to thunderstorms.

And even though he would rather have the gloomy weather, it was so much easier to operate when the skies were clear.

He watched one man in particular as he loaded a wooden crate, packed with explosives, into the truck. The bastard had nearly tripped as he wheeled the dolly up the metal ramp. Joker had sucked in a breath, waiting for the goods to drop and the explosion. Instead, the young brat panicked and corrected the dolly, nearly over compensating himself. That would have been funny.

He was unsure why he was the one here, overseeing the work. Somehow Eddy had convinced him to stay here until the work was done. Get to know the help or some bull like that. He hadn't really been paying attention. His mind had been elsewhere. Obsessing over a certain fair skinned lady. Not so much obsessing, as much as racking his mind in an effort to understand her. Still, he had gotten nowhere. And he had thought that he had there this time.

Someone coughed outside, his eyes wondered up to see some jackass who had inhaled his cigarette down the wrong pipe. Another patted him on the back. He cringed..._get to know the boys_. As if he had anything in common with any of those filthy, greedy, cretins. There was only one man who had truly shared his vision. And that man was far from Gotham city and the Joker. Viktor would have known better than to try to personalize the hired help. Viktor would also be overseeing the tedious crap, and Joker would be putting everything into place at the new base. Putting into place how _he_ wanted it.

Instead, Eddy was probably lounging around; and enjoying this little moment of peace. The clown thought about running him through the machinery at the plant. The Italian's mangled corpse being carried down the conveyor belt, blood dripping down the gears and gaskets. His grin broadened. Soon. It would be soon. He could tell.

There was a foreign sensation all of a sudden, a vibrating in his pocket. It took him several seconds to realize it was the cellphone that he had deposited there earlier in the day. Eddy had insisted. Just in case.

The LED screen lit up blue, with the message incoming call. He did not recognize the number, nor did he care. His index finger punched the button with the green phone, and he held the receiver to his ear. For a moment, he just breathed heavily into mouthpiece. He expected the other party to hang up the phone, confused.

Instead however he heard a baritone voice speak. "Boss?" There was no Italian accent, and the voice did not sound whiny like Eddy's. His eyebrow cocked with suspicion.

"That would depend, uh, on who I would be talking to." Again, he licked the side of his mouth.

"It's Walt, Sir."

_Sir._ He could not contain the giggle. The word just sounded hilarious to him. No one had ever called him that, considering a freak like him unworthy of the title. It would seem Walt did not hold him in those same regards. Good for him.

But then in the back of his mind...he could not place why Walt was the one calling him, and not Eddy.

"So uh...Walt. Tell me, what can I do for you this fine day? And do tell me...why is it that Eddy is not on the other end of the phone?"

There was an intake of breath on the other side, indication of some bad news. Joker frowned, if that was possible.

Walt's voice poured through the earpiece, keeping his cool. "Well, Eddy is taking care of everyone en route at the moment. I was tasked with calling you."

"En route?" Obviously some very bad news from the sound of the situation. If Eddy was calling everyone else, that meant someone had been caught. "Tell me, very quickly Walt, what is going on?"

Joker had already turned around, and took off through the warehouse to double check that everything had been removed. He caught a few of the men in the back, he motioned for them roughly with his hand to head back towards the entrance.

"Sir, we're not sure how, but our Intel at MCU said they know about the warehouse. You have 20 minutes to get the hell out of there."

His fist clenched tightly, the leather gloves rubbing his skin a little raw. There was a screech, as his heel spun on the floor and he booked it for the front of the warehouse. His boys were huddled together in groups, whispering amongst themselves. Apparently, they knew something was up.

"Alright gentlemen, stop everything. Drop what you are doing. Secure what you have, we're moving out..._now_!"

Someone had the nerve to ask a question. "Wait, what's going on?"

A bullet pierced his skull, and he fell lifelessly to the ground. "Anyone else want to ask questions?" Someone shook their head fervently.

He looked at one of the older looking men, he motioned with his gun to the corpse on the pavement. "Put him in the back of one of the trucks. _Quickly_."

All the while, Walt had remained silent on the other line. Waiting for the boss to give him any further instruction. "Has the new location been compromised?"

"No sir. But be aware, they are setting up roadblocks on all the busy intersections. Intel says they will be fully in place in five minutes."

"Of course they will be. And here I was wishing something exciting would happen."

* * *

_So there you guys go for now! Hope you liked it, more to follow soon._

_Viktor is an original character. Obviously he used to work for the Joker. He had to leave Joker's service right before he came to Gotham._

_**Pysche444-**Sounds like something he would do, doesn't it?  
_

_**Fight-**Could be, I'm planning on giving away her true identity sometime within the next 8 chapters or so. Depends on how long my chapters end up being.  
_

_**Abitron2000-**Sorry I didn't get to her coming home in this chapter. That will be the next one! They're going to have a very interesting conversation!  
_

_**Gen3683icy6-**Thanks so much for the feedback! I really appreciate the compliment.  
_


	11. Author's Note

Authors Note.

Okay so obviously it's been a super long time since I've updated. Unfortunately I had some major life events happen that needed my undivided attention. I have been compiling ideas in my head for this story, but have not had the opportunity to resume writing until now.

Last year I was forced to leave my husband as things were not working out and not getting any better. I went through a bout of depression that was incredibly hard to overcome. With the custody battle, the moving, and his horrible attitude about it made things very difficult for me.

Not only that, but then the third installment of Nolan's series came out. I decided to wait until I had a chance to see it before continuing on. When I did have a chance to see it, it completely changed how my fic would turn out. If I contined with what I had planned, it meant that a lot of the events in the last movie wouldn't happen. So after careful consideration I did decide to continue with my original idea. It's just going to be an alternate universe.

Thanks to those who have viewed and favorited my story in my absence.


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